Brittany and the Beast
by Penelope Cross
Summary: A retelling of the Disney classic with the help of the beautiful Brittany Pierce and the beastly Santana Lopez.
1. Prologue

**AN:** Hello there! Here we go again with another Brittana story. I swear I just can't stop myself from writing them. For some reason I just can't seem to write them in high school being all normal. I have to put them into crazy situations.

I've adapted the Disney classic as best as I can. I've changed some things to make more characters fit and to help make the story a bit more...I dunno if realistic is the right word, maybe probable? Yeah, sure, so I hope everything translates well.

One of these adaptations with this story is the curse. I changed it because I just didn't think having Quinn as a candle stick made much sense in writing. You'll just have to see what's different, I guess.

Anyway, I hope you like what I'm doing here, if you do or don't, just lemme know. Which is code for please review because I freaking love reviews. I'll be updating at least once a week.

I know this is short, but it's just the Prologue.

Standard Disclaimer: I really own like...none of this.

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

_Once upon a time in a far away land, a young princess lived in a shining castle..._

"Tina, no, do it right," Santana snaps at the girl. "I should look perfect."

"Yes, m'lady," Tina mumbles, continuing to work on Santana's hair, combing it gently, attempting to braid it without pulling any hair. She's already been yelled at four times this morning, she really doesn't want to listen to Santana's voice anymore, especially if it's angry.

"It would be quite alright if you were to remain calm for a moment or two," Quinn says from the doorway. "_M'lady._" Santana recognizes the sarcasm in the last words and scowls at her, through her vanity mirror.

"Servants should know there place, take Tina here for example, she does as she's told and though she does it poorly, she knows to keep her mouth shut while doing it," Santana says, holding her head up a little higher. The action causes Tina's hand to slip and pull at Santana's hair. "Tina!" Her voice is almost a shriek and Tina cringes.

"Sorry," Tina mumbles for what feels like the millionth time. She tries to move her hands as quickly and efficiently as possible.

"Don't apologize, Tina," Quinn says, sauntering into the room. "The Lady is only antsy because of the arrival of her parents. Which should be any moment now..." She crosses the room and looks through the glass on the doors that lead to Santana's balcony.

"Don't forget your place," Santana snaps, turning her head to look at Quinn. "You're still my servant."

Quinn senses the tone and refrains from making anymore remarks. "Your hair looks fine," she says.

"What would you know? Scullery maids shouldn't worry about hair, especially since you've lopped yours off. You practically look like a boy," Santana laughs at her own words and turns back to the mirror.

Tina ties off the braid and Santana nods at her once. "That means leave," she snaps and Tina scurries out of the room. Santana watches her go through the mirror, smirking.

"You should give her a break," Quinn says, her tone more casual.

"I was being serious when I said remember your place," Santana says through a clenched jaw. "Tonight is important and I don't want you fucking it up like you did that stable boy. I don't need another mistake like _Beth_ to come out of this."

Santana watches Quinn's face in the mirror. She doesn't care when the look of shock is replaced with anger, then replaced with defeat.

She does however, smile to herself when Quinn finally leaves her, muttering, "M'lady."

_Although she had everything her heart desired, the princess was spoiled, selfish and unkind._

Santana is sitting at the long wooden table in the dining hall. It seats almost thirty and is set for three. She sits on the left, leaving the head of the table open for when her father arrives. She's becoming impatient, though, having been sitting for so long. She's already moved from the parlor to the library to her room to the foyer and now she's sitting at the table. Her nails click impatiently on the wood.

"What's taking them?" She huffs to no one in particular.

"Well, it is such a cold night, my lady, perhaps they were delayed by unexpected weather or perhaps something has gone wrong with the carriage," Rachel begins.

Santana holds up a bored hand. "Please don't make me listen to you anymore. I don't need you to tell me things I'm already aware of."

Rachel quiets immediately, obediently and sinks into the shadows against the wall, where other servants are waiting for orders, waiting for the arrival of Santana's parents.

Santana huffs again.

An odd noise echoes in from the foyer. Santana scrunches her face in confusion because it sounds like someone is...knocking at her door. She opens her mouth to send someone to go and check but Rachel is already moving out of the dining hall. She smirks.

She feels like her pets are trained well.

Rachel moves quickly, crossing the room and disappearing beyond the doors.

The noise quiets, Santana can barely hear Rachel speaking – she'd recognize that horrible sound anywhere, though – then another voice, it sounds foreign. The dinning room is right off of the entrance hall, the voices are close enough to hear but too far away to discern any sound. When Rachel doesn't return immediately and voices are echoing through the door Santana huffs loudly and rises to her feet. She moves across the room gracefully.. She keeps her head raised and doesn't look at any of the guards or servants she passes.

The foyer looks like a disaster area. Santana scowls at Rachel who is standing by the large double doors speaking to someone in the doorway. The figure is hunched in a traveling cloak, Santana can't make out their face.

"You," Santana speaks. The word echoes against the walls.

Everyone seems to freeze. Rachel turns to look at Santana. She opens her mouth but Santana stops her.

"I'm sure whatever apology you're about to come up with is wonderful and full of oh so many necessary words, but I'd like to know what's going on _tonight_, if it isn't too much trouble," Santana snaps, voice dripping with sarcasm and contempt. She hates nothing more than when a servant can't do their job.

_But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold._

"She," Rachel stops and looks down at the hunched figure. "She was asking if she could stay the night, just for this one night, since it's winter," Rachel says, stumbling over her words.

Santana cocks an eyebrow and strides closer to the stranger. "Well," she begins, an angry smirk on her face. "I'd love to see the person who has the audacity to ask for free room and board from someone who is," she eyes the tattered traveling cloak the figure is wearing. "So obviously out of element in my entrance hall."

"Please," a frail voice asks from under the hood. "It's frigid outside, a night like I haven't seen in years." The woman reaches into her robe and pulls out a single rose in full bloom, offering it towards Santana. "I can give you this."

Santana watches Rachel's face crease in sympathy.

"Show yourself," Santana barks, ignoring the rose –she isn't as easily swayed.

_Repulsed by her haggard appearances, the princess sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away._

The figure lowers her hood and Santana takes a step back. An old woman is standing before her. Her skin is so completely covered in crinkles that it look like tiny pathways across her face. Her hair is white and wispy and hangs loosely, unkempt, around her face.

"Absolutely not," Santana says, crossing her arms over her chest. "You've already interrupted my dinner and ruined my appetite with your..._appearance. _Please leave." She sees Rachel inhale sharply beside her and shoots her a warning look.

_But she warned her not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within._

"My _appearance_," the woman begins. "Is not all that I am. I ask for just one night. I will not bother you or your staff, I will not take your food. I just need somewhere to rest and escape this biting cold."

Santana scoffs. "Get out." Her words are sharp and she turns her back on the old woman, leaving her with Rachel to deal with.

_And when she dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress._

Light flashes through the entrance hall and Santana turns. She feels like she's been blinded, the light –which has now disappeared – was so bright, so pure. She blinks hard, trying to focus. Standing where the old, hunched woman had been standing is a woman in a green dress. It flows like water around her. The woman is beautiful, tall, taller than Santana.

Santana's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What is this?" She turns to Rachel whose mouth is open, she looks stunned, in awe.

"I warned you," the woman in green says. Her voice seems to echo everywhere. Santana feels like the voice is inside of her, making her organs vibrate. "I gave you a chance to show kindness to another."

"What?" Santana asks again. "What is the meaning of this?"

The woman tsks at her. "There it is, that anger, that bitterness at all things that aren't beautiful, like you are."

Santana narrows her eyes. "This is trickery, had I known–"

The woman holds up a hand. "Had you only known I was just as beautiful? Had you only known I was an enchantress?"

_The princess tried to apologize but it was too late, for the enchantress had seen there was no love in her heart– _

Rachel gasps. Santana's eyes widen and she takes a step back. She's angry at herself for not realizing immediately. Of course she would have to be an enchantress to change forms. "I'm sorry," Santana splutters quickly. Wealth, societal standings, those types of things can't save you from enchanters. Santana knows this and feels her heart pounding hard in her chest.

"Sorry," the woman says. Her voice is heavy, as if she's tasting the word in her mouth, feeling it. "Sorry does not amend the ugliness I see in you. You have let your beauty poison you, you have lost compassion and love. _These_ are things that matter."

Santana can feel her face growing hot with anger at having her words thrown back at her, humiliation at being tricked in front of her servants and most of all fear. Santana has heard her father and his friends, other men of nobility, Dukes and Earls and the like talk about the dangers of enchanters. They spoke about enchanters as if they were vigilantes. Delusions of grandeur, she had heard him say; the world was build this way on purpose, with everything in its place, and changing that would hardly make things better. Their words had been spoken with such conviction. Yet when Santana had asked him about enchanters he had told her to never associate with them and to avoid them at all costs. He had said it with fear, hiding just behind his eyes.

–_and as punishment she transformed the princess into a hideous being and placed a powerful spell upon the castle and all who lived there._

"You need to learn what beauty is, Santana," the enchantress says. "Beauty is love, the act of it. It is not the image." She takes a step back, out the double doors and into the cold night. "I have placed a curse on you, on your servants who allow you to treat them –and others– in your _monstrous_ ways."

Santana feels her entire body become cold, numb. Fear crawls across her skin. She stumbles backwards, away from the enchantress, in futile hope of escape.

"Do not fear," the enchantress says and smiles at Santana. It's warm and real and genuine and Santana cringes. "When you find love, when you realize love and have love returned, your spell will be broken."

The world turns white and Santana is blinded like she was before. When she finally blinks the brightness from her eyes, the enchantress is gone.

"M'lady," Rachel beings in a quiet, quavering voice.

Santana opens her mouth to respond but stops. She doubles over.

Pain, she's in pain. It's unlike anything she's ever felt in her entire life.

"What is going on?" Quinn's voice echoes through the entrance hall.

The sound is like knives in Santana's ears. Everything hurts so much. She stumbles away, desperately wanting to get away from everyone, everything. They can not see her this weak, she won't allow it. She can hear Quinn and Rachel talking behind her as she moves to the stairs, up and up, clawing her way. She hears footsteps coming towards her and barks an order for them to leave her.

She doesn't know how she manages to make it to the west wing, into her room. She does though. She collapses beside her bed and feels her body changing beneath her skin –feels her skin changing. It hurts like knives and ice and lasts for what feels like centuries.

Until she's floating.

Or spinning.

She isn't really sure but she isn't in pain. She opens her eyes and stares at the detailed molding on her ceiling. She groans slightly and pushes herself up. She blinks a few times and grabs onto her bedding, using it to pull herself up.

She stops and gasps loudly. Her arms, her once beautiful, flawless arms are now... She looks scarred, as if she had been burned years ago and the wounds were never properly treated. Her hands are the same way, the scarring moves in patches, making it even more gruesome. It seems to make a swirling pattern on her body. Her nails are long and yellowing, like an old man's. She pulls the hem of her dress up and gasps again when she realizes that her legs and toe nails are the same. Santana resists the urge to scream as she pulls herself to her feet.

She's in a daze as she makes her way across her room, to her vanity. She looks into the mirror.

Her hair is dull and hangs limply on her head. Her skin looks scarred, like the rest of her. Her teeth are sharp and seem to jut at horrible angles. Her lips look chapped and gruesome. Her eyes though, they haven't changed.

It's an odd comfort, but it's one thing, at least.

She flexes her fingers in front of her and blinks at her reflection a few times before a sob escapes her. She sinks slowly into the chair in front of her vanity.

"What you see is what I saw," a voice speaks from across the room.

Santana jumps and turns, the enchantress is standing on her balcony, the double doors open. "You," she hisses. She scowls at the woman and turns back to the mirror, she chokes out another sob.

"I brought you a gift," the enchantress says.

"A gift?" Santana barks. "Haven't you done enough?"

The enchantress says nothing. She moves into the room quietly and sets a long handled hand mirror on the vanity in front of Santana. It's silver and ornate, beautiful.

"So I can always remind myself of how repulsive I am?" Santana spits at the enchantress.

"It will show you whatever you ask of it," the enchantress says, moving back towards the balcony.

"Why?" Santana nearly yells the question. "Why give me this when you made me...turned me into... I look like some type of _beast_."

"To help," the enchantress says.

"I don't understand," Santana moans, slumped over her vanity.

"I hope to think you will," the enchantress says. "Oh."

Santana looks up. The enchantress is standing over her, the red rose held in her hand. She held the stem gently and let it go. It hovered in the air and floated towards Santana, who looked at the enchantress.

"Take it," she says gently.

Santana reaches her hand out slowly, grimacing at the way her skin looks. She holds the rose gently in front of her. "I suppose this will help, too?"

"Until your twenty-first birthday," the enchantress says, moving towards the open balcony doors.

"I don't understand," Santana repeats.

"You have until the last petal falls to break your curse," the enchantress says, stepping onto the balcony.

"Wait," Santana says, glancing to the rose and setting it on her vanity, afraid to touch it.

When she looks up, the enchantress is gone. Santana buries her head into her arms and sobs.

_Ashamed of her monstrous form, she concealed herself inside her castle, with a magic mirror as her only window to the outside world. The rose she had been offered, was truly and enchanted rose, which would bloom until her twenty first year. If she could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell. If not, she would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. _

_As the years passed, she fell into despair and lost all hope._

_For who could ever learn to love a beast?_


	2. Chapter 1

**AN:** Thanks for the amazing response! So many favorites and alerts and reviews right off the bat. I hope I don't disappoint. Thanks, Beta, for being all kinds of awesome.

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><p>Her father needs more twine.<p>

Brittany walks the short distance to town with a skip in her step. The sun is out and shining brightly without burning. The breeze is warm against her skin as it bats playfully at her skirt. The weather is perfect and even though her father is leaving (after she fetches his twine) she can't help the smile on her face.

When Brittany was younger she used to always accompany her father to town. This was due mainly to the fact that Brittany was too young to be left alone. It was also because Brittany loved to atmosphere of the town. She loved seeing the people, the shops, the colors and smells and wonder of it all.

Brittany traveled everywhere with her father. Ever since her mothers passing after she was born, Brittany hasn't been away from his side. He makes musical instruments, which Brittany has always thought is the best skill to have. They used to travel all over the country, selling the guitars and harps and violins and cellos her father made. Brittany thinks that's where her love of travel comes from, her childhood.

Not only does he make instruments, he can play them. When Brittany was old enough to steer Philippe and the cart, her father would relax into his seat and play one of his many instruments. Those were some of her favorite memories. When it was just her and her father and the music.

When Brittany turned eight, they settled into a small town tucked into the middle of nowhere. The town is quiet and far away from any big, jostling cities full of too many people. Her father had told her it would be better to grow up in a small place with lots of familiar faces than in large overcrowded city. He had been right, for the most part. Whenever something terrible happened to someone within the village, everyone was there to help, lend a hand or a donation of some sort. The trouble was though, everyone knew everything that went on. Everyone gossiped.

Brittany tried to never pay attention to that, though. She grew up paying attention to her fathers music, playing in the town square and wishing for more travel and more adventure.

Going into town has lost its original excitement. Brittany feels as if she has outgrown the poor provincial town. She wants to move in the world like she did as a child. She wants to see new things, new people. There are still _some_ fun parts to going into town, though. She always stops by the fountain where the children gather to play while their parents barter. She laughs with them and remembers the days when she was the child playing. She joins their games and twirls them around in hopes of sparking their interest in dance.

Brittany loves dance almost more than she loves her father.

Her first encounter with dance was when she was six and a half. They were invited to the estate of a nobleman who was interested in purchasing one of her father's instruments. While her father negotiated with the nobleman Brittany wandered. She heard music coming from a half open door and moved towards it.

Due to her fathers occupation music was present through Brittany's entire life. In that moment Brittany followed the music and looked inside the open door. A young girl was being moved around the floor by an older man. He counted to her as they glided gracefully over the marble floor of the ballroom.

They were the most beautiful things Brittany had ever seen. They moved _with_ the music became a _part_ of it. She was entranced and watched them.

"I believe we have a spy," the young lady said, spotting Brittany by the door.

Brittany gasped and tucked herself behind the one closed door, peeking around shyly at the two people staring at her.

"I see," the older gentlemen said. He walked towards her and stopped, bending over at the waist slightly and offering her a hand. "May I have this dance?"

She hadn't known what he meant. She was afraid of refusing the man and took his hand. He swept her into the middle of the room and cued the musicians back up. "Follow my feet," he said as the music began to play.

She watched his feet and held onto his hand as he counted. "One two three and one two three and...yes, there you go," he said, laughing.

Brittany looked up at him, smiling.

"A natural," he told her, picking her up off the ground and twirling her.

Later, during the carriage ride back home she asked her father about the young girl and the man. He explained it was the nobleman's daughter and her dance instructor. It was then she realized what dance was and it was then she fell in love with it.

No one else in town knew how to dance (really dance like the people in the ballroom) or would dance with her. They had all called it a waste of time and Brittany had danced on her own. She abandoned the practice of her violin in favor of twirling around outside while her father played.

Brittany collapses onto the edge of the fountain, wiping her hand across her forehead in mock exhaustion.

"Brittany," a little red headed girl whines. "Come on, the game isn't over."

"Oh but dear Caroline," Brittany says, placing her hands on her knees. "I'm far too tired and have errands to run."

The children groan as Brittany stands. She pats Caroline on the head. "I'll be back tomorrow, I promise." Brittany crosses a finger over her heart and waves at the group of children as she moves up the road, towards the general goods store on the corner.

/

"I heard they were caught behind her fathers hay bales," the baker's wife whispers conspiratorially.

"No," the butcher's wife gasps, placing a hand over her mouth (if only to hide her excitement). "How would they expect not to be caught? Silly things." She picks up small piece of bread she's sharing with her friend and takes a bite of it.

"I also have some news on...well it's more fun when you guess," the baker's wife says, voice higher.

"Don't hold out on me or make me play your games, just _tell_," the butcher's wife begs.

Morning gossip, in her opinion, is the best part about her day.

"Jesse St. James," begins the baker's wife, drawing the name out. "Apparently, he's looking for a girl."

The butcher's wife fans herself and smiles coyly. "Jesse St. James. If only I had a daughter," she sighs, thinking of her four sons. "Then she could marry him and I'd be able to look at him whenever."

"Judy," the baker's wife says, scandalized. "He is handsome." She pauses, as if conjuring a picture of the boy in her head. "You'll never guess who I heard he's in pursuit of..." She singsongs the last word, trying to pique the curiosity of her friend.

"Is it one of those nice Smith children? He has such lovely daughters," the butcher's wife muses. She can see them in her minds eye, with their lovely blonde hair and green eyes; classic beauties.

"No, but he is chasing after a most peculiar blonde," the baker's wife snort. "And I don't mean courting, I heard he's close to asking for her hand."

"You don't mean," the butcher's wife says, piecing it together.

Besides the Smithies children, there is only one other girl in the town of marrying age with blonde hair. "You don't mean the Pierce girl, do you? Maurice Pierce's daughter?" She asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"The one and only," the baker's wife says, biting off a piece of the bread and chewing slowly. "She _is_ beautiful."

"She is," the butcher's wife concedes. "But has he had a conversation with the girl? She spends more time playing with children and spinning around than anything else. The one or two times I have talked to her she seems so distant."

"Well, she isn't the brightest, but look at her father," the baker's wife reasons. "He's trying to sell instruments for a living in this poor little town. He'd be lucky to have Jesse take the girl off his hands, it can't be easy having to support her on the few wages he earns."

The butchers wife nods in agreement. "Jesse St. James and Brittany S. Pierce. Brittany St. James. Awful ring to it."

The baker's wife laughs haughtily. "Did I tell you about the tailors son?"

"No, you did not!"

/

Brittany is leaning against the side of the bakery, listening to the gossiping woman. She can feel her bottom lip trembling, a sure sign of tears-soon-to-come. She shakes her head. She clutches the coins in the pocket of her apron and holds her head high. Mustering up the courage, she saunters past the women who hush each other as soon as she comes into their line of sight. She doesn't say a word, but tries to keeps the lilt in her step she always has.

She's never heard anyone say such mean things about her before.

/

The twine is less expensive than anticipated. The leftover coins jangle happily in her pocket as she makes her way back to the center of town.

Are those women right? Is she a burden? The questions keep surfacing in her mind. Brittany's father never says anything about it to her. They always seemed to have enough, food, water, clothing. They laugh a lot, smile a lot. There is always music playing and a roof over her head.

That seems like it is more than enough.

Should she be looking for a suitor, though? A husband? The idea makes her nose scrunch up. More than anything, Brittany just wants a friend, someone to talk to. No one ever takes her seriously.

"Brittany," says an oily voice behind her.

She should have known. He always seems to find her whenever she's in town. He always wants to talk to her, follow her around, ask her opinion about him and his looks and his skill as a hunter and his recent decorating of the tavern. "Jesse," Brittany says, trying to mock his tone.

"I was hoping to find you here," he says, sauntering closer, failing to pick up on her obvious disinterest.

"Oh?" Brittany feigns interest.

"Yes, I saw you dancing with those children earlier. I think you'd be much more suited to dance with me." He smiles at her, a half smile that Brittany knows is trying not to be a smirk. He offers out his hand.

She stares at it for a long time, wondering if she should take it or not.

"It's just a hand," David says, laughing at Brittany's hesitation.

"That's so nice of you, Jesse," Brittany says, choosing carefully what to say. "I need to get home to my cats, though." She holds up the twine.

Jesse's face falters slightly at the comment. "What?" He asks, clearly confused.

She stares at him for a while, not understanding why he didn't catch the joke. "My father needs my help."

"And twine," says Jesse.

"Well, yes," Brittany says. She looks at the twine in her hands. "He's going to a music festival."

"They have those?" Jesse asks in quiet incredulity.

Brittany giggles at the look on his face. "Yes. He's going to sell and give lessons and if it goes well he may start giving lessons here."

"Crazy old Maurice," David says behind Jesse. "Give lessons? What a waste."

Jesse laughs at David's words. "Music lessons? Where does he think he is? No one here can afford lessons."

"My father is the best," Brittany says indignantly. Her brow creases and she glares at Jesse. "He's good at what he does."

Jesse stifles his laughter. "Of course he is. David doesn't know what he's talking about. How about I come by later and we can talk about this more?" His demeanor changes immediately, he shoots a glare at David.

Brittany scrunches her face up at him. "No." She shakes her head and turns to leave, trying not to run. She wants to get as far away from Jesse as possible. All of her encounters with Jesse end the same way.

/

"Don't make fun of her father, you moron," Jesse snaps as he watches Brittany's retreating figure.

"Sorry," David mumbles. "Doesn't look like she's interested anyway."

"Are you crazy?" Jesse questions, turning his gaze on David. "She's playing coy. When the ladies play coy it means they want you to try harder. We've been doing this game for a while now. She's ready."

"Ready for what?" David asks, looking around the square, as if the answer is standing in plain sight.

"Ready to become Mrs. St. James," Jesse states, straightening his shirt.

/

As Brittany walks, the words from the butcher's wife, the baker's wife and David echo inside of her head. A waste, no money, burden. She shakes her head. She knows she can't be that much of a burden. She helps with the few animals they own, she cooks and cleans along with her father. She helps with the instruments and runs errands. She does her share.

She knows the other girls her age in town are starting to marry, settle down.

She's never even met a boy she likes, all of them remind her of Jesse. They saunter around like roosters. When they aren't the center of attention they act like children. She's been watching the women in her village since they settled in it years ago, how they marry and have lots of children and stop doing anything else.

She doesn't want that. Brittany wants a friend, someone to share her day with, laugh with. She wants someone who will take her seriously.

She walks silently, the skip in her step from the morning gone now. She wonders how long her father will let her stay with him until he forces her to marry. The idea is terrifying. She doesn't _think_ he will force her to marry, he's never talked about it before. She doesn't really want to talk to him about it now, anyway. She sighs heavily and wishes her mother was around, even for just one conversation.

She walks with a head full of heavy thoughts. As she approaches her cottage, though, she can hear music. It wafts on the breeze and hits Brittany square in the chest. The music of her father picking at one of his many guitars. The sound makes her smile wide, returns the skip to her step. It's the sound of home and warmth and acceptance. The sound of her father, her childhood, her late mother.

She climbs the few steps to the front door of the cottage, which is propped open. She twirls into the cottage, arms spread out. She hears the music stop. It's replaced by applause. "Brava, my dear," her father says.

She turns to him, smiling and dips into a curtsy. "Thank you, kind sir."

Her father gently sets the guitar down on the table and stands. "Is that my twine?"

"Oh," says Brittany, she had completely forgotten about her original reason for going into town. "Yes, your twine, the finest in all of the land," she teases, pulling it tight in front of him.

"Thank you, my dear," he says, taking the twine from her hands and kissing her gently on the forehead, the way he always does.

"And here," Brittany says, digging into the pocket of her white apron. "What's left." She holds her hand, palm up with a few small coins resting on it.

"Keep it," he says, waving a hand and grabbing his guitar off of the table.

"But father," Brittany protests.

He holds up a hand and she goes silent. "I am the man of the house and make the rules. You keep it, put away in that sack under your bed with the rest of your savings."

Brittany laughs at him. "That's supposed to be a secret, but thank you."

"A good father knows all," he whispers to her. "Come help me pack up the rest of this stuff and hook up Philippe."

Brittany nods, placing the change in the front pocket of her apron. It weighs heavier than it did before. It feels heavy like the things the gossiping women said, Jesse said. She follows her father out to the small stable built onto the side of their small cottage.

She helps him rearrange the instruments a few times, packing them in gently. She helps him throw the giant piece of cloth over everything and tie it down with the newly purchased twine.

"What's the matter?" He asks, fastening a knot.

"Nothing," Brittany replies automatically.

"You've been silent for a while now, what's on your mind?" He stands up and rests his elbows on the edge of the cart, staring at Brittany.

She sighs. "Am I a burden?"

She watches his face carefully, the way it scrunches slightly in confusion, the same way hers does. "Not at all. I find your company invaluable."

"But father, we don't make that much as is, should I be married?" Her words and fears jumble together.

He smiles warmly at her and reaches across the cart, she gives him his hand. "We are fine, we laugh and have food, so we're fine." He squeezes her hand and releases it gently. "As for marriage, that is something you can hold off on as long as you please." He fastens another knot then looks back up at her. "This isn't your way of telling me that Jesse fellow has proposed to you, is it? Because he didn't even ask me."

Brittany laughs. Jesse's advances are apparently hard to miss. "He's so annoying."

"Isn't he the most handsome man in town?" Brittany's father asks.

She smiles at him and sighs. "I guess."

"Well," he says, bending over and disappearing behind the cart. "You know, follow your heart and all that." He stands back up and smiles at her. "I think I'm ready."

Brittany frowns at him. "Let's go double check your pack."

/

When his pack is triple checked and he's bundled up for far colder weather than the day has predicted, Brittany allows him the climb up onto the front of the cart. She moves around him, checking the twine, checking the straps securing the cart to their horse Philippe. She stands back from the cart and tries to come up with an excuse to make her father wait until the morning to leave.

"It's getting late," Brittany says.

"The festival is closer than you think," Maurice says, adjusting the pack on his back.

"Why not wait until tomorrow?" Brittany asks, worry forcing her to frown.

"This music festival is a big opportunity for us," he says, voice filled with excitement. "They invited musicians and composers and other makers like me."

"I know, but what if you get lost? You've never been to it before," Brittany argues, but he cuts her off.

"I know the path, the old one that goes past the lake," Maurice replies. "You know the path."

"I do, but not at night and your eyes aren't what they used to be," Brittany says, biting at her lower lip. Her father is all she has in the world, she won't ever stop worrying about him.

"Now you are simply making things up," he says. "Now, get inside and leave me be."

She pouts her lips. "I'm going to miss you," she says, climbing up the cart and kissing him on the cheek.

"I already miss you," he replies, smiling down at her.

"Be safe," she says as he urges Philippe forward.

"I will, my dear. I'll be back before you know it," he says, calling louder as he moves down the path. "Don't worry."

Brittany watches him until his figure is a speck on the horizon and then disappears completely.


	3. Chapter 2

**AN:** I know we're moving a bit slow, but crazy work schedules are actually pretty crazy. Thanks for the reviews. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2 <strong>

Waking up to an empty cottage is something Brittany isn't used to. She's woken up to her father's voice, his music, or the sound of his snoring. Never alone, though. The silence is horrible and weighs heavy on her chest, like her cat has fallen asleep on her again.

The previous evening, sleep was hard to come by. Every creak or sound was sinister or foreboding and echoed through the empty space her father had left behind. The silence of the morning is worse, though. The day seems to solidify the feelings of loneliness Brittany feels now that her father is really gone.

She shakes her head as she moves around the cottage completing her morning routine of chores. The faster she finishes, the quicker she can head into town. People are in town all of the time. They let their children play by the fountain while they work or trade.

The work of chores passes slower without the sound of her fathers laughter or music there to set a rhythm for her. Even humming and singing made up songs to Lord Tubbington don't help keep away the very loud, real silence of being alone.

When everything is put in place she heads into town. Her walk is brisk and she feels like she's trying to outrun something creeping up behind her.

/

The town square is bustling with activity as always. The air is different today. The usual atmosphere of business and routine have disappeared. The square surrounding the fountain is decorated for a celebration.

A wedding.

"Now, Dave," Jesse says, straightening his bolo tie. "When she enters the square and I get down on one knee you have one tiny job to do."

"I cue the band," Dave says, nodding his head.

"Yes, cue the band." Jesse runs his hands down the lapel of his jacket. "I want you to make sure everyone is looking. I want all eyes on me. I want everyone to remember this moment. The moment when I, Jesse St. James, sweep Brittany S. Pierce off of her feet."

"A love story for the ages," Dave agrees with a slight smirk.

"Don't mock me," Jesse says, accentuating each word with a brush of his hand across his shoulder. He checks his reflection obsessively in the water by the fountain. "This must be perfect."

"It will be," Dave assures, looking at his own reflection beside Jesse.

"Yes," Jesse sneers into the water. "You're right, everything I do is perfect."

People are talking excitedly around the square. Jesse turns to look at the assortment of villagers dressed in their best (or what they assume to be appropriate). "Thank you all for coming to my wedding." He smiles wide at the crowd and waves a hand.

There's a smattering of applause.

"Keep an eye out for her, I know she'll come. She always comes to the fountain," says Jesse. He shoves Dave roughly towards the main road. "Stand guard while I mingle."

"Yes, sir," Dave says. He keeps his eyes peeled on the road, waiting for Brittany's arrival.

/

"I can't believe it's finally happened," says the butcher's wife.

"I can. I told you didn't I?" The baker's wife scans the crowd with beady eyes, searching for Brittany.

"It just seems a shame," says the butcher's wife.

"Doesn't it, though? I just don't see them together. Brittany is too...different," the baker's wife says. "The heart wants what it wants, though." She looks fondly towards her husband. He's rather large and his bald head is glistening in the sun. He ruffles his mustache (a nervous habit) as he talks to the butcher.

"I suppose."

/

Brittany slows her walk the farther away she gets from her cottage. The day is warm and though the sun is glaring, the cool breeze from the previous day has returned. It blows against Brittany as if it wants to keep her away. She happily walks against it. The feel of the wind blowing her hair away from her face and off her neck is a relief from the heat of the sun.

Shock. That's the feeling she gets when she sees how completely empty the town looks. The main road is nearly empty. Almost all of the shops and stands are closed. It's as if everyone has left town overnight.

An odd sinking feeling settles in the pit of Brittany's stomach. Her heart pounds and her palms begin to sweat. She wonders for a moment if she's been left completely alone. Maybe she's having a horrible nightmare?

She takes a few hesitant steps forward and hears noise. Talk, laughter. It wafts towards her on the wind from the town square. She cocks her head wondering what event she has forgotten. As she moves towards the square the wind blows hard against her.

/

David leans against the cobbler's store. He twists a piece of straw in his hands and looks around the square. He sighs and throws the piece of straw on the ground. He kicks at the dirt road and shoves his hands in his trouser pockets and begins to pace back and forth. He keeps his head down.

A roar of laughter comes the square and David looks up, a small smile on his lips. He takes a few steps forward, wanting to join the fun, before stopping. He watches Jesse pantomime a story for a crowd of people. He narrows his eyes and watches, hesitating.

He doesn't hear he footsteps approach behind him.

/

"What's going on?" Brittany asks David.

He jumps and turns quickly, eying her up and down. He looks panicked. His eyes are wide and he looks back toward the square quickly. "B-Brittany," he stutters taking a step back.

"Yes," Brittany says, drawing out the word. She stands with her hands tucked into her apron pockets. "Why are you acting so strange?" She narrows her eyes slightly and scrunches her brow. She peaks around him and looks at the square.

"Well you see, uh," he stumbles over his words and backs away from Brittany. "Can you just, uh, wait here?"

"Hold on a moment," Brittany mumbles looking at the decorations. "Is someone getting married?" Her eyes widen in sudden excitement. "Who's getting married?" She takes a few steps towards Dave.

"No one. Nothing, just wait here," he says before turning around and walking quickly away from Brittany.

Brittany tilts her head slightly and watches him for a beat before following after. A wedding feels like the perfect solution for her feelings of isolation and solitude.

/

"Jesse, Jesse, Jesse," David whispers as fast as he can. "Jesse a problem has arisen!" He walks as quickly as he can without running. He slides to a stop beside Jesse, kicking up dirt. He tugs on his sleeve.

Jesse turns, eyebrows forced together in a scowl. "What?" He hisses loudly. He takes in David's wide eyes and panic. He glances around and sees Brittany walking towards them leisurely. "You were supposed to warn me!" He shoves David out of the way and walks briskly to Brittany, meeting her before she reaches the crowd and the fountain.

"Brittany," he says, mellowing his voice and taking her gently by the elbow. He leads her farther away from the crowd.

"Jesse," Brittany says, pulling her arm away from Jesse. She rubs her elbow and looks over Jesse's shoulder. "What's the occasion?"

"You see," Jesse begins moving to block her vision of the crowd, which has slowly begun to realize that Brittany is finally there. "Today is a special day."

"I can tell," Brittany says. "Who's getting married? David didn't say." Brittany spots Caroline in the crowd and waves. Caroline smiles and waves back. "Everyone is so dressed up."

She scans the crowd of people, then back to Jesse in his very best dress. "Wait a second," she says. "Are you getting married?"

"Yes," Jesse says, smirking at her in a way that makes her skin crawl. "Today is a very special day. Probably the most special day this town will ever have. Today I'm getting married."

Brittany pauses for a moment. "Well congratulations. She must be a really...lucky girl." While it _is _Jesse and he is the most annoying person she knows, Brittany feels herself deflate. She wasn't invited. No one even told her about the wedding and here it is, about to happen. "Oh," she says, realization hitting her. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll just...go."

Jesse laughs deep, throwing his head back and running a hand through his curly locks. "No, you have to stay, Brittany."

"Why is that?" She asks, genuinely confused now. If she wasn't invited, why would she _have_ to stay?

Jesse sighs and shakes his head, as if he's having to explain the situation to a child. "Alright, the time to play coy has passed."

Brittany looks around the square. "Uh," she says becoming very aware of how many people are listening to their conversation.

"Well, if you insist on making me ask," Jesse says. Before Brittany can stop him he's pulling her closer to the crowd. He stands in front of her, holding both her hands in his own. "Brittany S. Pierce, today is the day you become my wife."

The only thing keeping her from laughing is the anticipation radiating from the crowd. Brittany looks around for help, for something, anyone to jump out and scream surprise. She suddenly feels like this is one big joke and she's the punch line.

"Jesse, no," she says, jerking her hands roughly away from him. "Why would I marry you?"

Jesse stares at her, mouth slightly open in shock. "I'm Jesse St. James. Why _wouldn't_ you marry me?"

Brittany shakes her head and turns away. She walks a few paces back towards the main road that leads out of town and turns. "What does the S stand for?"

"Excuse me?" Jesse splutters. His jaw is still slack and he's looking at her like she's a book without pictures; confusing.

"Brittany S. Pierce. What does the S stand for?" She asks it angrily and crosses her arms.

No one says anything for a full five seconds. Brittany turns quickly and walks out of the village, back to her cottage.

/

When the laughter begins Jesse shoves David angrily. "This is your fault," he bellows before retreating in the opposite direction of Brittany. He yells a few choice words and the majority of the town is left standing, dumbstruck.

/

Maurice Pierce pulls his cloak tighter around him but to no avail; it slips down his shoulders as soon as he returns both his hands and attention to the reigns. He shivers. The night is dark and cool and calm, a dangerous trio in his book. Luckily, he knows the path and so does Philippe.

He leans his head back and sighs. The bumpy road and old cart make him feel like he's been sleeping on a stone floor. He groans when a particularly large hole in the road causes the cart to jolt. He rubs his forehead and thanks the heavens that he only has a few more miles to go before he reaches a resting point.

Not too far...

His body jolts as if someone has just thrown cold water on him. He sits up up quickly and groans when his muscles ache. He rubs the back of his neck and looks around. The cart is stopped. "What?" He whispers into the night.

He blinks a few times and his eyes adjust to the darkness. He unties his lantern from the cart and holds it up in front of him. It illuminates Philippe and the split path ahead of him. "Where are we?"

Philippe snorts in response.

"Thank you," he mumbles sarcastically. He flicks his reigns and clicks his tongue to Philippe. The horse moves forward and a sign post comes into view. It has four or five signs pointing in different directions. Maurice blinks hard and tries to read what the signs say. He hops off the cart and stands in front of the pole, holding the lantern up for direct light.

"Maybe Brittany was right," he mumbles as he takes a step back, unable to decipher the words on the sign. He crawls back onto the cart. "Okay, Philippe. Left or right?"

The horse swishes his tail.

"Left if is, I suppose," he mumbles, guiding Philippe down the designated path.

/

They've been traveling for barely half an hour when Maurice realizes it has to be the wrong path. The road has become bumpy underneath the cart, jolting his body every few steps Philippe takes. Something makes the air thick around Maurice and the wind tugs at his cloak. When a wolf howl fills the night, Maurice shivers.

When other howls echo in response his heart tightens slightly. "I think we've taken the wrong path," Maurice whispers to Philippe who whinnies in response and continues to pull the cart.

Maurice pulls his cloak farther up his shoulders and glances quickly around him. He swallows hard as another chorus of howls fill the air. "Philippe," Maurice says, tightening his grip on the reigns.

Philippe's ears prick up and fold back. He retreats backwards and the cart catches on a rock in the path, jolting it. Philippe rears, neighing shrilly.

"Whoa, whoa boy," Maurice says loudly trying to grab the reigns he's dropped. The cart jerks and Philippe darts forward at a fast trot. Maurice abandons his search for the reigns and holds tight to the cart. He can hear howling around him but is too caught up in hanging on to realize that the growling from the wolves is right beside him. When one of the wolves appears in the middle of the path and snaps at Philippe's fetlocks, the horse turns abruptly, throwing Maurice to the side of the cart. He struggles hard to find a grip but fails to do so when another wolf pounces at Philippe, causing him to buck forward.

He's thrown from the cart. He hits the dirt path hard and can hear the wolves, Philippe and the cart disappearing into the distance. He stays completely still, afraid of any wolves that might be lingering behind. He opens his eyes and slowly pushes himself up. He stands, rubbing the dust off of his clothes, and looks around.

"Oh, Philippe," he says looking down the path and unable to see beyond the dark.

His lantern is laying on the ground a foot or so from him. His hat not too far after that. He brushes it off and holds the lantern high. Shelter, he needs to find shelter from the wolves and the deceiving night. He walks a few feet and his foot comes into contact with something hard. He jumps in surprise and looks down.

A guitar.

He stares at it for a long time. "Must have fallen off the cart," he mumbles, picking it up. He holds it tightly around the neck and walks forward with a slight limp.

/

He's been walking for what feels like hours. His feet sore, his back sore, his eyes sore from the dim light of the lantern. "It could be worse," he mumbles to himself.

Then the rain begins.

It starts as one thick droplet that lands on the brim of his hat. Then another large droplet that manages to smack him in the side of the face on a sharp gust of wind. Before he realizes it, the rain is falling hard and thick and he's soaked through his cloak.

Maurice shivers, the rain is cold, and continues forward. He keeps his eyes forward but it's hard to see through the spray.

Then, there, in the distance, he sees it. Big black gates. He moves towards them quickly, picking up his pace. He leans against the gates and moans; his left leg is aching horribly. He pushes the gates open. "Thank god," he says to the rain as he limps down the long path toward the double doors of the castle.

They feel like they weigh a ton as he pushes them open. He stumbles inside and pushes the doors closed again. He stands against the wall in the large entrance way and pants. There are no lanterns and little light, just a few candles resting here and there. The castle looks almost...deserted.

"Hello," Maurice says. His voice echoes loudly. "I just...needed a place to escape the rain." He pauses and takes a few steps forward. He can hear voices, people whispering just beyond his line of sight. "Hello?" He takes a few steps forward and picks up a candle stick sitting on one of the tables.

/

"This is not good. Not good at all," Rachel whispers, watching Maurice.

"What? He's just looking for some way to escape the cold," says Quinn, leaning against the wall beside Rachel.

"If Santana finds out...well, you know what happened last time someone asked for shelter," Rachel says, turning to look at Quinn for a moment.

Quinn looks at Maurice then back to Rachel. "Don't give me that puppy dog look. Santana doesn't have to find out. She's up in the West Wing doing whatever she pleases and ignoring us as usual." Quinn takes a step forward. "He just needs to dry off. We'll stick him somewhere Santana won't look," she assures.

"I don't know," Rachel says, twisting her hands together. "I don't think this is such a good idea.

"It's not like she can do anything to us," Quinn says, moving down the stairs and towards Maurice. "Hello."

/

Maurice jumps when he hears the greeting. His eyes dart around and land on a young woman stepping towards him. "Oh, hello," he stutters. For half a second he thought it was Brittany. But although the girl approaching him has the same light hair as Brittany, hers is shorter. She looks older, as if life has weighed heavy on her too soon. "I'm sorry to just barge into your home. It's raining and my cart...there were wolves."

"It's alright," Quinn says, smiling gently at him. "Let's get you out of that cloak."

/

Maurice holds the warm cup of tea in his hands for comfort more than anything. Even though his wet cloak is gone and he's wrapped in a blanket, he's still a bit wet. He takes a sip of the tea and it soothes his throat, which has been feeling more raw every moment.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he says looking from Quinn to Rachel.

"Not at all," Quinn says, waving a hand and smiling at him.

They sit in an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Rachel watches him closely and grimaces every time a stray drop of water lands on the rug.

Maurice opens his mouth to say something when Quinn interrupts him. "What's it like outside?" She looks almost shocked to have said the words, and her eyes dart to Rachel who is wearing the same expression. Rachel's hands twitch in her lap and she glares at Quinn hard, darting her eyes to Maurice and back.

"Well," says Maurice, setting the tea down on a side table. "It's rather...wet. It's raining and cold. Unseasonably so, if I do say so myself."

"No," Quinn says, shaking her head slightly. "What's it like outside of the castle?"

"Quinn," Rachel warns.

Maurice pauses and watches the two woman, perplexed. "I'm afraid I...I don't understand what you mean."

"The world," Quinn says. She shakes her head again. "Never mind. It's not like..."

"So," Rachel interrupts. "Are you feeling better?"

"Oh," says Maurice, watching Quinn. "Yes, thank you again for helping me."

"Not at all," Quinn says again, voice heavy. She stands and turns her back to the group, watching the fire.

"Tell us about you, then," says Rachel, glaring at Quinn and then smiling at Maurice. "To pass the time until this storm clears."

"Well," he says, unsure of where to start. Maurice Pierce isn't used to be questioned by such young beautiful women. "I make instruments and play them. I was on my way to a festival for musicians and makers and vocalists."

"Oh," Rachel says, looking down.

Maurice gulps. He feels out of sorts, as if everything he says is offensive or upsetting. "I have a daughter." It's the next thing that pops into his head. His Brittany, home alone.

"You do," says Quinn, turning quickly. The room becomes silent. "What's her name?"

"Brittany," Maurice says, watching Quinn. Her eyes become wide and sad, full of some emotion Maurice can't seem to pinpoint. "She's the light of my life," he says smiling at her.

Quinn sits down heavily in her chair.

Rachel shoots her a warning look. "Quinn," she whispers.

"Rachel be quiet," Quinn says. "Do you miss her terribly?"

"Quinn," Rachel hisses.

It takes Maurice a moment to realize that the question is directed at him. "Yes, I do," he says smiling. "But I'll be seeing her soon."

Quinn opens her mouth to speak, but Rachel places a hand on her shoulder. "Quinn," she says, voice firm. "I think it's getting late, and we should all try to rest."

"I'm not tired," says Quinn, sitting up straighter in her chair.

They slip back into an uncomfortable silence. Maurice looks around the room, anywhere but at the two strange women. He isn't sure what to say or how to respond to anything they've said or done. They seem so...odd.

"Do you play?"

Maurice looks up. Quinn nods towards the guitar at his feet. He smiles at it. "I do," he says.

Quinn glances at Rachel. "Would you mind?"

"What if she–" Rachel says.

"She won't," Quinn insists.

They glare at each other and seem to have a silent argument. Maurice picks up the guitar and holds it gently. "I don't have to if it's a problem."

"No, I'd love to hear some music in the castle again," Quinn says, turning away from Rachel.

Maurice nods and holds the guitar gently. He hesitantly plucks a few strings. He stops, frowning, and tunes the instrument before plucking at the strings again. "There we go," he says and begins to play. The music fills the room quickly. It's smooth and familiar and calming. Maurice smiles at the two women as he plays. "Do either of you sing? Sometimes my daughter sings, but she usually likes to dance."

Rachel's face drops as soon as he speaks and she looks away. Quinn watches her and seems to be thinking. She looks back to Maurice. "I sing," she says.

Rachel gasps and jerks her head up to look at Quinn. Before she can say anything, though, the doors to their sitting room are thrown open.

Maurice jumps and drops his guitar; it twangs as it hits the ground. Quinn and Rachel jump to their feet and exchange glances.

"What is this?" A voice roars.

Maurice's heart is beating in his throat. His chair is facing away from the intruder.

"What is this? I asked you a question," the voice asks again.

"I told her-"

"We were just–"

"It's raining and we just-"

"Helping is all-"

Santana sweeps around the chair and glares at the two women. "You know the rules. You know," she spits the words at them.

"I'm sorry," says Maurice, rising to his feet. "I didn't mean to intrude. I was only..."

He stops talking when Santana turns to look at him. He's frozen in place by the way her eyes glint wildly, like she's some caged beast. Her hair is unkempt and sticks out at random places. He let's his eyes wander over her entire appearance, her skin and clothes and sudden anger.

"What?" She snaps.

"I...I just..." He says. Her sudden appearance and her _appearance_ have shocked the words out of him.

"Come to stare at me, have you? Come to stare at the ugly, repulsive... _thing_, have you?" Her voice is a growl, guttural, and deep in her chest.

"Santana," Rachel says stepping forward.

Santana turns her anger on the smaller girl. "Quiet!," she yells. Rachel becomes silent and retreats back to stand beside Quinn. "You," she turns back to Maurice. "You think you can just come here and stare at me like that?" She takes a few steps towards him.

Maurice stands, unable to move. He feels like a spell has been cast over him, keeping him in place.

When Maurice does nothing, Santana does the first thing she can think to do. She grabs the blanket that's wrapped around him and rips it away. She twists her arm in the fabric of his collar and pulls hard. Caught off guard, Maurice stumbles with her as she pulls him.

She drags him out of the room and into the entrance way. Maurice isn't sure what's happening. He gains his composure on the stairs and pulls against Santana. She turns to him and shoves him roughly. He's stunned, so stunned that when she pulls roughly for him to move forward he does. He feels almost delirious. His body is aching; he feels too warm and too cold all at once.

When Santana releases him he opens his mouth to speak. Before he can say anything, he's being shoved into a room. A door slams. Something clicks.

"Stay in there," she yells. It's deep in her throat and echoes horribly against the walls. He can hear her breathing heavily. She stops and stares at the heavy wooden door. She flexes her fingers and curls them into fists. She doesn't know what she's doing. The mania that gripped her when she saw someone staring at her with horror now gone, Santana feels lost. She could have let him or let him stay...

The idea of him wandering around her castles makes her shake her head. She can hear Maurice's uneven breathing. She thinks about letting him out, letting him go.

No. She has to be in control, even though she feels trapped. Trapped in her decision, the castle, her own skin.

She turns and leaves Maurice.

Her footsteps echo as she moves away.

Maurice curls in on himself and tries to regain his breath, slow his beating heart and figure out how everything has fallen apart around him so quickly.

/

Brittany sits outside of the cottage. She's in the yard behind the small barn, watching the sun set. She sighs and leans back in the grass.

"Jesse St. James," she mutters.

The grass feels sweet against her skin, and she stretches her body out like a cat.

"Brittany St. James," she says quietly. "Ugh." She shudders at the sound. "He's horrible."

She can't help but feel...a little sad at the entire situation. She didn't want to embarrass Jesse, but she feels like he deserved it.

Jesse has been her only suitor. The only person to have shown a little interest in her besides the children.

She realizes then just how alone she feels. With her father gone she's realizing that she has no one to talk to. No friends. No one. She's all alone. Before the feeling has time to spread through her entire body, Brittany hears a noise.

She turns her head and sees Philippe coming up the path towards the cottage. She sits up, thinking her silly father has forgotten something and smiles. The smile fades quickly when she sees that Philippe is alone. She jumps to her feet and runs, sliding to a half in front of the cart.

"Philippe, where's father?" The horse pushes his nose against Brittany.

She looks at the mud on the cart, the cover that has fallen off and the exposed instruments underneath. "Did something happen?" She doesn't wait for a response she knows isn't coming. She unharnesses Philippe and pulls off all of the extra gear he has to wear to pull the cart. She grabs a handful of his mane and pulls herself up onto his back.

"Let's go find father," she says, digging her heels into Philippe's sides.


	4. Chapter 3

**AN**:Thanks for the awesome reviews and all of the alerts. It's greatly appreciated. Also, if you have any questions about the story, feel free to visit my Tumblr, which is just my pen name.

Anyway, this chapter is unbeta'd! Gasp! My super mega awesome foxy hot Beta is super busy and I figured I'd give her a day off. I apologize for any mistakes and comma splices. They are my weak point.

Thanks and enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

When Philippe begins to sweat and snort Brittany slows him down to a walk. She grips onto his mane hard and bites at her lip. She travels down the same path she knew her father started out on, and keeps her eyes wide; constantly searching for any sign of what happened.

Their progress feels painfully slow to Brittany who is aching to find any clue about her father's whereabouts. After a few hours, she slumps her shoulders, releases her grip on Philippe's mane and relaxes her legs.

"Okay, Philippe," she says, petting the horses neck. "You lead me to him, alright?"

Philippe continues his silent walk.

/

When the path curves sharply and branches out into two different directions, Brittany knows she needs to go right. The right path heads towards the festival. The left path is one she has never been on. Her left heel moves up to Philippe's belly, but she stops herself. She inhales deeply and waits to see where the horse leads her. Philippe takes the right path and Brittany hopes he's leading her to her father.

After a long time of walking and scouring the path, Brittany sees a sign post ahead. She clicks her tongue to Philippe and presses her heels into his sides, urging him to move faster. She grips onto his mane and stops him in front of the sign post. The arrows pointing in different directions are blank. Brittany stares at it for a long time.

"Which way did he go?" She asks no one in particular.

She looks down both paths.

She digs her heel gently into Philippe's right side.

"Left it is," she mumbles.

/

They've been walking for a while and Brittany isn't pleased. The path is rocky. When Philippe stumbles on one of the many holes in the road, Brittany lurches forward. She holds onto Philippe's neck and pushes herself up.

She steadies herself on his back and looks ahead. The sun is slowly making it's way lower into the horizon. The light is changing and casts eery shadows. Brittany shivers slightly. Her eyes adjust to the waning light. She urges Philippe forward.

He moves at a steady gate that Brittany urges into a trot. Her skin crawls as the sounds of night begin to pervade the air. Dusk weighs heavy around her making her feel claustrophobic. When Philippe stumbles slightly and an odd twang echoes through the air, Brittany jumps and squeaks in fear.

She pulls against Phlippe's mane, slowing his trot down and coming to a halt. She turns around and looks. She can make out the outline of the source of the twang. A violin sitting at the edge of the road.

She gasps and stares at it for a few more seconds before kicking her heels into Phlippe's side and starting him at a trot again.

As the sun begins to disappear she pushes Philippe harder. She bites her lips. The dark will do her no good and in her haste she left without any source for light. Philippe is swift and his feet sure over the tricky road. They move forward for a while before Brittany sees it in the distance.

The castle. It appears, as if it has risen out of the ground. It's towers are sharp and it's contours dark. It casts shadows everywhere in the twilight. As Brittany approaches it she can't help but stare at it, mouth slightly open. She hasn't seen a castle in so long.

She's never seen one with so much menace.

She slides off of Philippe's back and pushes the heavy, metal gates open. They creak. She shivers.

"Come on," she whispers to Philippe.

/

They're in the same sitting room they had tended to Maurice in the night before.

"I can't believe she did that," Rachel says, staring into the fireplace.

"Why not? She's horrible."

"Quinn," Rachel says, turning to look at her.

Quinn is sitting with her legs crossed in a tall, red armchair. "What? She is. That curse has killed us all. It's turned us into...nothing."

"Quinn," Rachel says, voice quiet. She turns around and crawls across the floor to sit in front of Quinn. She holds up her hand and it hovers above Quinn's knee. She pauses for a moment and retracts the hand before saying, "We're not nothing. We're just..."

"Trapped," says Quinn, staring hard at Rachel.

Rachel looks down and twists her hands together.

"Speaking of trapped. Have you talked to Finn lately?"

Rachel's head jerks up to look at Quinn. Her eyes dart back and forth between Quinn's before she turns her body around, leaning her back against the chair and looking at the fire. "I don't think he wants to talk to me."

"Well," begins Quinn, but she stops.

"What?" Asks Rachel, turning to look at her.

"Did you hear that?"

The two girls go quiet. The only sounds in the room are the erratic crackles from the fire.

"Hello?" A faint voice echoes in from the entrance hall.

Quinn is on her feet and moving out of the room before Rachel can say anything.

/

Brittany stands in front of the double doors for a long time before working up the nerve to push one of them open. When she does she turns to look at Philippe. "Stay," she commands.

The horse snorts at her in response.

She slips in through the door and pushes it shut behind her. She looks around the dark, empty entrance hall and stands for a few moments. It's completely silent.

Until she hears two very faint, muffled voices coming from her left. She takes a few hesitant steps forward before calling out a very timid, "Hello?"

Nothing happens. Nothing stirs.

"Hello?" She calls again, this time a bit louder.

Brittany moves farther into the castle and looks around. Everything feels so cold and empty. She looks up at the high ceilings. In the dim light she can't make out the architecture, but she's seen castles. She knows this one must be beautiful.

Or it was at some point.

"Hello?"

Brittany jumps and turns quickly. A blonde girl, with short hair appears out of a doorway farther into the entrance hall. "Hi," Brittany says, unsure of what to do.

When another darker haired girl appears behind her she smiles. "Hello," she says again.

The blonde girl moves towards Brittany. "Are you lost?"

"Well," Brittany begins, glancing at the dark haired girl.

"Why don't you come have a seat?" The blonde girl offers, smiling softly.

"Quinn," the dark haired girl says, moving forward quickly. She offers Brittany a smile before turning on the blonde girl, Quinn. "Have you learned nothing?"

Quinn steps forward, closer to Brittany, ignoring the dark haired girl.. "I'm Quinn," she offers.

"Brittany," Brittany says, smiling. She's never had girls her age to just talk to. Girls that weren't completely in love with Jesse St. James and his hunting stories, that is.

"Brittany," Rachel gasps.

"Maurice's daughter?" Quinn says, eyes widening.

"You know my father?" Brittany asks, taking a step forward and reaching out a hand. She pulls it away quickly, realizing she has no idea who these two girls are. "Is he okay? Is he here? I've been looking for him and I found a violin and Philippe helped."

"Philippe," says Rachel, looking around the entrance way.

"Our horse," Brittany supplies.

"Oh."

"Your father is here," says Quinn. Her voice is deeper and quieter.

"Is he okay?"

The two girls exchange a look.

A yell echoes from somewhere deep in the castle. The girls freeze.

"Oh no," Rachel says, eyes darting around quickly.

Brittany feels panic building inside of her. "What's wrong?"

"Rachel, go to her. Keep her away," Quinn says, grabbing Brittany's hand.

"What are you going to do?" Rachel asks as Quinn drags Brittany away.

"I'm taking her to her father," Quinn says.

/

Quinn moves fast, as if she's trying to outrun something. Brittany follows, letting herself be led through corridors and up and up stairs.

"Brittany, I'm really sorry," Quinn says after a while.

"Why?" Brittany asks, pulling her eyes away from the thin windows in the wall. She can see almost everything from such a high place. She can't seem to find Philippe, though. She turns her attention back to Quinn.

"We wanted to help him but she just..." Quinn looks away.

"What are you talking about?" Brittany asks in a serious voice. "Quinn, is my father okay?"

They've stopped by a wooden door at the top of the stairs. Quinn sighs and pushes it open, waiting for Brittany to go in.

Brittany very slowly steps over the threshold and looks around the tower. It's a dungeon. "Father?" She asks quietly.

"Brittany?" A small voice replies.

"There," Quinn says. Brittany turns to look and see her pointing to the closest door.

Brittany runs to it and sinks to the floor. Her father is reaching a hand out through a small gap covered in metal bars. "Brittany. How did you find me? Why are you here?"

"I'm here to get you," Brittany says. She grabs his hand and holds it close to her face. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Brittany, you have to get out of here," Maurice says, hurriedly. "Quinn, is Quinn here?"

"I'm here," Quinn says, stepping closer.

"Quinn, please get her out of here before Santana sees her," Maurice says.

Quinn doesn't move or say anything.

"No, I can't leave you here. Why are you trapped here?" She turns to Quinn. "I thought you said you wanted to help? Let him out!"

"Brittany..."

"Let him out, Quinn!" Brittany can feel the tears prickling in her eyes. The room feels electric. There's an urgent current running through her father and Quinn that is almost palpable. Brittany doesn't fully understand why, but she can't help the way her stomach clenches and her palms begin to sweat.

/

"Finn," Rachel splutters when she sees Finn coming towards her down the stairs.

He stops when he sees her. He opens his mouth to say something but Rachel interrupts.

"What were you doing in the West Wing?"

Finn's eyes seem to darken and he looks down at his feet before back up at Rachel. "Hello, Rachel." He sighs. "I was just asking Santana about the new horse."

"What new horse?" Rachel asks, eyebrows scrunching together.

"The one that was just standing outside of the doors," Finn says, shrugging.

"What?" Rachel stops. Her eyes widen. "What did she say?"

"She said I must be getting more stupid every day or something. She doesn't know why there would be a horse here," Finn says, watching Rachel's face carefully. "Why, whose horse is it, Rachel?"

Rachel's eyes widen. "She didn't say anything about Maurice, did she?"

"Who?"

"Rachel!" Santana's voice echoes around her.

Rachel looks around Finn. Santana is standing at the top of the stairs, watching her.

"I thought about how we could have a new horse. It seems impossible, especially if Finn here had nothing to do with it." She steps down the stairs slowly. "So, that got me to thinking. If Finn didn't get the horse and that old man is locked in the tower...someone must have come looking for him."

Rachel opens her mouth to say something.

"Take me to them," Santana growls.

/

"I don't have the key, Brittany," Quinn says.

"Who does?"

Maurice and Quinn fall silent.

Brittany looks to her father through the grate and back to Quinn. "I'll go ask," she says, standing and moving towards the door.

"No, stop her!" Maurice yells from his cell.

"Brittany, wait," Quinn says, jumping in front of her. "It's more complicated than that."

"_Un_complicate it," Brittany says, staring hard at Quinn.

Quinn opens her mouth to speak.

"Yes, Quinn, uncomplicate it for us all," a voice sneers from the doorway.

/

Brittany's body jolts and takes a few steps backwards. The new presence in the room takes up so much space, fills every corner and crevice with wild energy. Brittany moves closer to her father and drops to her knees again, holding his hand through the bars.

"Who is she?" The voice asks harshly.

Before anyone can respond Brittany speaks. "This is my father."

She can feel everyone watching her.

"He's done nothing wrong, let him out," Brittany says, turning her eyes on the cloaked figure standing in the shadows. One dimly flickering torch and moonlight don't give enough light for Brittany to see her father's captor.

"He's a trespasser," the voice hisses.

Brittany looks back to her father. "Please," she says, turning to the figure. "He's sick."

"He's...he's my prisoner," the voice says.

Brittany squeezes her fathers hand. "Father," she whispers through the bars.

"It's alright, Brittany," her father says, squeezing her hand back. "I'm alright, please go. Get out while you can."

Brittany releases his hand and rises to her feet. She takes a few steps away from the door. Her eyes remain on the cold, stone floor. "Take me instead," she says, looking up at the figure.

"Brittany, no!" Her fathers cry echoes around the stone chambers.

Brittany curls her fingers into fists and squeezes hard. Her nails dig into her hand and she grits her teeth at the pressure. "Please, I'll stay in his place, just let him go," she pleads.

"You would do that?" The voice softens.

"Yes, I love him," Brittany says, glancing back to the cell.

"Fine," barks the voice. The figure sweeps quickly across the room. Brittany flinches at each clink of metal. "Finn!"

A young man stumbles into the room. He straightens up and glances at Rachel as he walks towards the figure. "Take this man," the voice snaps.

"Where?" Finn asks, glancing at the man who is struggling to his feet.

"Father," Brittany says, moving forward.

"Now!" The voice echoes shrilly in the small tower prison.

Finn glances from the figure to the man and reaches out a trembling hand to grasp at his shirt. "Come on," he says, quietly.

"Wait," Brittany says. She takes another step forward, eyes widening.

"Go!" The voice yells.

Finn glances to Brittany and before clutching at Maurice's shirt. He pulls him away. Maurice attempts to fight against Finn. Finn grips him tighter and pulls him away from Brittany, out of the tower.

The figure steps in front of Brittany, blocking her from following her father. When she tries to step around the figure steps with her. "We had a deal," she hisses.

Brittany takes a few steps backwards. She leans against the door to her fathers prison cell. Her eyes begin to prickle, her chest tightens. "You didn't even let me say goodbye," she whispers.

The tower is silent.

"Santana," Quinn speaks up from her place along the wall. She takes a step towards Brittany. "Why don't we move Brittany to a room?"

Santana turns, glaring at Quinn.

"She will be staying here...a while," Quinn says. She moves to Brittany and places a gentle hand on Brittany's shoulder.

Brittany's reaction is immediate. She releases the tightness in her chest and allows herself to cry. She wraps her arms around Quinn's middle, pulling her into a tight embrace. Quinn stiffens, before wrapping her arms around Brittany shoulders and rubbing her back. "I know," she whispers into blonde hair. "I'm sorry."

Santana scoffs at the display and turns away. "Rachel," she says, voice sharp. "Do we have a room...suitable?"

Rachel jumps and takes a few quick steps forward. "Well, yes. I believe we have one or two that are...liveable."

"Fine," Santana says, moving towards the door.

The movement isn't lost on Brittany. She detaches herself from Quinn quickly. "Wait," she says, sniffling. She wipes her eyes across her face. She opens her mouth and closes it quickly, eyes widening.

"What?" Santana asks after a few seconds. She glares at Brittany from across the room.

"Step into the light," Brittany says so softly.

"What?" Santana repeats, voice lower.

"Step into the light," Brittany says clearly.

The entire room tenses, as if everyone is holding one large breath.

Santana takes a few hesitant steps forward. When the light hits her, Brittany gasps. She takes a step back, towards Quinn, and lowers her head.

Santana shrinks away from the light quickly.

/

Brittany sniffles and wipes at her eyes. "I can't believe I didn't get to say goodbye. I'm never going to see him again.

"I know how you feel," Quinn says. Her voice is heavy and she hesitates on the stairs for a second before moving down them, Brittany in tow.

"At least you aren't staying in the tower," says Rachel, offering a small shrug.

"Be quiet," Quinn snaps, turning her head to shoot a look at Rachel.

"I didn't mean for her to find you, Finn went to ask her about the horse," Rachel says, quickly.

"It doesn't matter now," Quinn says.

All three of them fall quiet. Brittany keeps her eyes on the stone steps beneath her feet.

/

When Santana's voice echoes through the corridor, shouting for Rachel, Rachel ducks around Quinn and disappears around a corner. Brittany watches her the entire way and continues to stare even after she's gone.

"Where is she going?" She asks Quinn.

"Probably to the West Wing," Quinn sighs, heading in the opposite direction of Rachel. "Santana resides up there."

Brittany nods, even though Quinn is walking in front of her.

"Never go up there," Quinn warns, turning to look at Brittany.

"Why?" Brittany asks automatically.

"Never go up there," Quinn repeats, turning around and moving forward.

They turn a corner and then Quinn stops suddenly. Brittany nearly runs into her. "This will be your room," Quinn says, pushing down the handle of a door. She stands back to let Brittany in.

Brittany steps in hesitantly. The room is bigger than her entire cottage. The bed against the wall opposite her is plush. There is a wardrobe, vanity, a small lounging chair by the window. "This is...my room?"

"Yes," Quinn says, stepping in beside her and looking around.

"It's so..."

"Dirty," Quinn says, frowning.

Brittany turns to look at her. "I was going to say big."

/

"Santana?" Rachel asks timidly, peaking around the open door.

The room is in shambles. A chair lies broken in the corner. The vanity mirror is shattered. Pictures have been torn off the wall.

"Where is she?" Santana spits. She steps away from the small table sitting by the double doors leading to her balcony.

"Brittany? She's in the East Wing. Quinn is taking her there," Rachel says, stepping fully into the room.

Santana paces back and forth. "Why would she do that?"

"What do you mean?" Rachel asks in a small voice.

"Why would she _do_ that?" She nearly yells, stopping mid stride. Santana's fists ball at her sides and she slams them on the small table.

Rachel and Santana both jump when the glass cover for the rose that hovers a few inches above the table is jostled. Santana seems to collect herself. She places a gentle hand on the glass case and looks down at the rose. The glass is cool against her warm palm. Her forehead relaxes. Her fingers clench, nails digging fruitlessly at the glass.

"She's to stay in her room at all times. Until I say otherwise. I don't want her wandering around my castle," Santana says, voice low and hard. She keeps her back to Rachel.

"I...yes," Rachel relents, folding her hands together in front of her and looking down. "Anything else?" Her voice is small, resigned.

Santana shifts her hand to a new spot on the casing, a cooler spot. "Dinner. She should eat dinner."

"Dinner is at eight," Rachel says quietly.

Santana doesn't move. "Get out," she says, voice low.

Rachel hesitates for a moment before retreating.

/

Brittany stands in the middle of the room. She turns her body slowly, taking in everything new around her. She lets her eyes wander over every piece of furniture, every window, every corner. This is her new home.

She can feel Quinn's presence at the door.

"Brittany," Quinn says in a slow voice.

"Don't worry about it. You've been so nice to me," Brittany says, turning her head and offering a weak half smile.

Quinn opens her mouth but closes it quickly, looking away.

Footsteps echo in the corridor outside the open bedroom door. Brittany perks up and turns to look. Rachel pops her head into the room. Brittany can tell by the look on her face that she isn't happy. Her eyes stay downcast, her shoulders are slumped slightly.

"You're to stay in your room, unless told otherwise," Rachel says. "Quinn and I have things we need to do." Rachel glances at Quinn who is glaring at her hard. "Dinner is at eight." Rachel places a hand gently on Quinn's arm. Quinn snatches it away and leads the room, giving Brittany one last, long look.

When the door clicks shut, Brittany swears she hears Rachel whisper a very soft 'I'm sorry.'

She inhales deeply and tries to exhale just as steadily. She sniffs, her shoulder shake with the effort of trying to keep her breath from catching. Her eyes prickle painfully until she has to blink. Big, hot tears roll from her eyes. Her legs feel like jelly as she moves to the bed and sinks onto it. She wraps her arms around a pillow and cries.

/

Santana sits at the long dinner table. Her left hand rests on the wood, fingernails tapping impatiently. "Where is she?" Santana barks at Rachel, who is standing against the wall.

"She...," Rachel says, stepping forward. "She said that..."

"What?" Santana snaps, turning roughly in her chair to look at Rachel.

"She...refuses to come down," Rachel says, barely above a whisper.

Santana's eyes narrow. She stands up, shoving her chair back with such force it crashes to the floor. She moves quickly around the table and leaves the dining room.

Rachel glances around quickly, unsure of what to do before following Santana.

She finally catches up to Santana's long strides outside of Brittany's room. Santana bangs hard on the door three times. "I thought I told you to come down to dinner."

A few muffled noises. "I'm not hungry."

Santana's eyebrows push down and she opens her mouth to yell.

"What are you _doing_?" Quinn's eyes are wide.

"She...she didn't do as I told her," Santana says, turning to face Quinn. Her teeth are grit together, her hands knotted in the loose fabric of her skirt.

"Well, she isn't one of your cursed servants, is she?"

Rachel takes a step back from the two girls, glancing at the door.

"Quinn," Santana hisses out. "I don't feel like dealing with you right now."

Quinn folds her arms across her chest. "She isn't going to listen to you if you keep treating her like one of us."

Santana mirrors Quinn, crossing her arms. "I don't understand."

Quinn scoffs. "Ask her nicely if you want her to join you so badly."

Santana's entire body stiffens. She glares at Quinn and turns to the door. Heat rises to her face.

"Will you come down to dinner?" Santana asks in a quiet voice.

"No." Brittany's voice echoes through the door.

Santana turns quickly to Quinn, eyebrows up, pointing at the door.

Quinn smirks at the look on Santana's face. "Maybe try saying please."

Santana's eyebrows seem to knit almost completely together. She glares hard at Quinn for a moment before turning back to the door and crossing her arms again. "Would you come down to dinner...please?"

"No, thank you!"

Santana feels her anger snap inside of her. "You can't stay in there forever," she barks at the door. Her arms uncross and stand rigid at her sides.

"Yes, I can!"

"Fine," Santana snaps, turning to Rachel and Quinn. "If she doesn't eat with me, she doesn't eat at all." She turns quickly away from Rachel and Quinn, walking swiftly down the hall.

"That went well," Quinn says, knocking softly on Brittany's door.

/

Santana bursts into her room, anger fueling her forward. "Asking politely in front of Quinn. Stupid," she says to herself. She kicks a chair out of her way. She paces the room back and forth.

She knows she shouldn't put so much effort into a prisoner. She certainly didn't with Maurice.

She doesn't even know why it matters if she has dinner with the girl or not. She doesn't know why she wants to. Why she wants to see what her blue eyes look like in proper lighting.

She stops pacing in front of the small table. The rose is glowing so very gently in the dark room. She picks up the hand mirror sitting beside it. Her reflection is something she thinks she'll never grow used to. If she looks hard enough, though, she can sometimes see herself in it. Her beautiful self...or at least a shadow of her old self.

"Show me the girl," she says to the mirror.

The glass flashes and Santana's reflection melts away. She can see Brittany's room and Brittany sitting on the bed. Quinn is sitting beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"I know it seems bad," mirror Quinn says.

"_Seems_ bad?" Brittany stands up, shrugging off Quinn's hand. "It _is_ bad, Quinn. I don't know why you're still here. Being trapped inside this dingy castle with that horrible..._thing_."

Santana's face falls. She feels like her heart plummets out of her chest, through her stomach, through her feet and seeps into the dirty stone beneath her. She sets the mirror face down on the table and places a hand on the glass cover for the rose.

A petal falls heavily towards the table top.


	5. Chapter 4

**AN:**I know this is super late. I got busy and so did my beta. I hope you like it though, I worked pretty hard on it. Hopefully the next update comes quicker.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

Finn steps down from the top of the carriage. He unlocks the door to the inside, letting Maurice out.

"Where am I? What are you doing?" He asks, springing from inside the carriage and stumbling forward.

Finn moves forward to help him up. "I took you home," he says softly.

Maurice straightens up and pushes Finn away. "I don't want to be here. I want to go back and get Brittany!" He raises himself to his full height and steps closer to Finn, having to crane his neck back a bit to look him in the eyes.

Finn's hands rise in defense. He looks down at Maurice with wide eyes. "I'm sorry," he says, taking a step back.

"Take me to her," Maurice demands, shoving a finger into Finn's chest.

Finn takes a few steps back and hops onto the carriage. He opens his mouth and looks at Maurice for a long time. "I'm sorry," he repeats, clicking his tongue and the reigns at the horses.

The carriage moves forward and Maurice tries to keep pace with it, yelling for Finn to stop.

/

Brittany wakes up, but keeps her eyes closed. She can tell from the cloud soft bed beneath her that what happened the previous night wasn't a dream. She lets her eyes flutter open, hoping that might jolt her out of her dreaming, that it is all in fact, a dream.

The bed she is lying in isn't her own. It's too big and too ornate.

Brittany sighs and pushes herself up. Heavy curtains are drawn over the balcony doors in her room, but she doesn't need the moonlight to know it's late. She can feel it in the way the air is still. She swings her legs over the edge of the bed effortlessly and stands, stretching. She frowns. She feels so well rested and relaxed. The mattress is heavenly after sleeping on her worn cot for so many years.

Her frown deepens.

Her father is gone. He's been taken far away and she'll never see him again. The thought makes her chest tighten and her breathing becoming shallow. She shakes her head and sits up on the edge of the bed. She searches for anything else to focus on, anything except the horrible pain in her chest.

Her stomach growls and she almost smiles. Hunger. She's hungry. She can definitely focus on finding food.

Brittany stands and crosses the room slowly, trying to move as quietly as possible. The castle is still a big mystery with it's dark corridors and empty, dusty rooms. The place feels haunted. There is so much space and Brittany's afraid every step she takes will echo, letting Santana know her whereabouts.

Santana.

She's the most terrifying, mystifying person Brittany has ever come across. She feels a rage towards Santana she's never felt before. Anger for sending her father away, for trapping her here, for being so harsh for no apparent reasoning.

On the other hand, Brittany can't stop thinking about her dark, deep eyes. The way they seemed to capture Brittany's in the tower and hold her as if pleading for her to just look deeper. No one had ever looked at her that way before.

She pushes open her bedroom door, surprised it isn't locked. She steps out slowly, glancing left and right to make sure the coast is in fact clear. When no one stirs, Brittany moves out of her room and down the corridor, trying to find her way to the kitchen.

She isn't sure how she manages it, but she ends up in the entrance way. She looks to the doors and her heart rate picks up, beating hard against her chest. It would be so easy to run out the doors, down the path, out the creaking metal gates.

Brittany turns away from the door. Without a horse it would take her hours to get home and in the dead of night with no lamp and no food... She knows better.

Her feet take her down another corridor. This one leading her deeper into the castle. There are very few things hanging on the walls, a few torches a picture here and there.

A click echoes further down the hall and Brittany's heart seems to hold it's breath. She freezes, unable to move. She can hear feet moving towards her. The sound echoes eerily on the stone floor and walls. Brittany's eyes dart around frantically looking for something, anything to save her. She tries the closest door and whimpers when the handle won't budge.

"Brittany?" A voice asks.

Brittany's body jerks around. She opens her mouth to shout an apology and stops. "Quinn."

"What are you doing out of bed so late?" Quinn's features are distorted in the dim torch light.

Brittany expected to get yelled at for snooping or being out of bed. She says the first thing that comes to mind, which happens to be the truth. "I'm hungry."

Brittany makes out Quinn's smile. "You're a bit off from the kitchen."

/

Turns out 'a bit off' is putting it nicely. As Quinn leads Brittany through the castle, which is starting to feel more like a labyrinth, Brittany is sure it would have been morning before she found where she wanted to be.

The walk to the kitchen itself was quiet. Quinn remained silent and Brittany honestly felt she had nothing to say.

Sitting at the small table in the corner of the big kitchen, the silence weighs heavy. Every clang of a dish Quinn moves or opening of a cupboard echoes loudly, as if the night has magnified the sound of everything. The noise keeps Brittany's nerves on end, making it impossible for her to speak.

Quinn sets a few slices of bread and cheese and a glass of milk in front of Brittany before settling in the chair across from her. "Eat," she says quietly, scooting the plate forward.

Brittany hesitantly takes a slice of cheese and lays it on a slice of bread. She takes a large bite and sighs. The bread tastes fresh, the cheese is just strong enough and the milk is cold. "Thank you," she says, bringing her hand to her mouth to cover her half chewed food.

Quinn shrugs and leans back in her chair.

Brittany chews a few more times and swallows. "You're so nice to me."

Quinn looks back at her and smiles with half her mouth. "I can't help it," she says, looking down at the table. Her tone shifts, deeper, distant. "You just remind me of...you're good, Brittany."

Brittany half smiles back to Quinn. "You're good, too."

Quinn's eyebrow twitches and she keeps her gaze on the table.

Brittany lets her eyes wander the kitchen. It's big, a lot bigger than she would have thought. She eats an entire piece of bread and a slice of cheese and is reaching for her second when she finally asks. "Why do you stay here?"

Quinn's eyes snap to Brittany's.

"Why do any of you stay here if she's so horrible?"

The way Quinn doesn't respond makes Brittany feel like she knows the answer. "We can't leave, Brittany."

Brittany stops mid chew and lets her eyes wander over Quinn's face. She traces her eyebrow with her eyes before asking the next question that has popped into her head. "Why not?"

Quinn's hands tense on the table top, she removes them to her lap and sits up taller. "It's complicated," she says.

Brittany nods, everything seems to be so complicated. "Will you tell me anyway?"

Quinn's eyes narrow the slightest bit. Brittany watches, curiously, as Quinn's eyes flit over her face, landing on her own blue after what feels like a decade.

"Alright, but I don't know if you'll believe me."

"I don't either," Brittany says, truthfully. The words tumble out of her mouth.

Quinn smiles at her, a full smile. "Years ago Santana had a visitor come to the castle. It was an old woman." She paused.

Brittany sits back in her chair and takes another bite of her bread and cheese. She recognizes the way Quinn's eyes have glossed over, as if she's reliving the story she wants to tell. Brittany knows she wears the same look whenever she tells the children in the square about all of the places her father used to take her. She waits patiently for Quinn to continue.

"She wanted to stay in the castle for a night, she offered Santana a rose, the only thing she had to give." Quinn takes a deep breath and exhales it in a sigh. "Santana turned her away, though. Told her she was too ugly to stay."

"That was mean," Brittany mumbles around her food.

"Yes," Quinn says, shrugging. "It was, but that's how Santana is. She doesn't respond well to beautiful things. She hated the woman for being so ugly." Quinn pauses.

The pause is thick, pensive, and though Brittany is burning to ask another question she bites her tongue and takes another bite of bread to keep her mouth busy.

"The woman was an enchantress." Quinn looks up to read Brittany's expression.

Brittany takes a long drink of her milk. "I met an enchantress once. She bought a harp from my father. She was beautiful."

"So was this one," Quinn says, leaning back in her chair, resting her hands back on the table top.

"I thought you said she was ugly," Brittany asks.

"Well, she was when she asked for a place to stay," Quinn explains, looking down at the floor. "When Santana turned her away she, the enchantress, turned into a beautiful woman. Then she cursed Santana for being so heartless. She cursed all of us. She took away the one thing we loved above all else."

Quinn's lips turned down ever so slightly, her forehead crinkled in thought, her hazel eyes blank.

"She tricked you guys?"

"Well," Quinn says, snapping back to the story. "I suppose."

"That doesn't seem right," Brittany says, nose scrunching.

"It wasn't right for Santana to turn her away just because she wasn't beautiful," Quinn says.

Brittany takes a few slow bites. "Yes, true. It still wasn't nice of the enchantress to trick her, though."

Quinn sighs. "I suppose. Either way, here we are, cursed, stuck here until it's broken." Quinn looks up at Brittany, who stares down at the last slice of bread and cheese.

"What did she take away from Santana?"

Quinn finds Brittany's blue eyes and stares into them for a long time. "Her beauty."

Brittany stops chewing, her eyebrows knit together. "But she's..."

"Cursed. She used to be so beautiful," Quinn says, recalling the image of Santana, with her haughty expression and obvious beauty.

Brittany seems to mull over the new information like her food. Chewing it softly before swallowing it. "What did Rachel lose?"

Quinn can't help but scoff. "Her singing voice. She used to have the most beautiful voice I've ever heard before. Now she simply can't sing."

"That's tragic," Brittany says. She means it, she imagines what life would be like if she one day couldn't dance. "What about you?" She asks it quietly, keeping her eyes away from Quinn's.

"Me," Quinn replies, keeping her eyes on the wooden table. She follows the lines, hoping they might lead her far away from the conversation at hand. "I lost Beth."

"Who is Beth?" Brittany asks so quietly her voice is almost a whisper.

Quinn inhales deeply, steadying her voice. "My daughter."

Brittany gasps quietly. "Oh Quinn," she says, leaning forward in her chair. "I'm so sorry."

Quinn keeps her eyes down and shakes her head. "It's just...how it is until the curse is broken."

Brittany sits back in her chair and looks away from the food. She has no appetite. The castle seems much more sinister now. Everyone who lives in it is cursed, it makes every dark hallway appear more frightening and every small sound eery.

They sit in silence for a long time before Brittany speaks. "It's kind of funny. Well, not really funny, just interesting."

"What do you mean?" Quinn looks up and blinks repeatedly, trying to will the tears building in her eyes to disappear.

"You said the enchantress cursed all of you, maybe she just cursed the castle," Brittany says, looking down at the stone floor.

"Why do you say that?" Quinn asks with genuine interest.

"Because I love my dad more than anything and he's been taken from me forever and now I can't leave. I guess I'm one of you all now."

The way Brittany says it, with a sort of quiet acceptance, makes Quinn's tears thicken and slide quickly down her cheeks.

/

Santana has spent hours pacing her room, standing on her balcony or staring at her reflection for as long as she can stand in the enchanted mirror. She has trapped herself alone, her unrecognizable feelings for Brittany, her guilt over Maurice, her anger towards the enchantress, the curse, her servants, herself, have all bubbled to the surface. They're a mess and tangled beyond recognition. Santana can't figure out where to start to unravel the feelings she has.

Her skin itches in no particular place; she just needs to escape and get some fresh air.

She leaves her room quickly, too quickly. The door stands open wide behind her, beckoning for someone to come in.

The farther from her room she gets the more her skin feels like it's what is keeping her trapped. She imagines shedding it and transforming into herself or anyone else. She longs to be rid of the cursed skin she's trapped in now. She hates the way she looks, hates everything about her appearance.

She's even started to hate herself.

The enchantresses words echo in her head on her worst days. "_What you see is what I saw._"

"I see nothing," Santana says to herself.

The words are the first words she's spoken since Rachel left her. Her voice sounds foreign in her ears.

She stops walking and realizes where she has stopped. She stands in front of her parents chambers. She looks at the closed double doors for a long time.

Hesitantly, she pushes one of the doors open, it doesn't even creak.

The room has been untouched, save for a few servants who have tried to keep the castle from falling to shambles. The room is twice as large as her own. A fireplace with a few couches rest on one side, a large fourposter bed with a plush red comforter sits on the other. The curtains for the two large double doors leading to the balcony are pulled shut.

Santana steps inside.

It was their fault. They taught her that her name was better than everyone, that her beauty made it okay to frown upon those who were ugly, that her family's wealth meant she could do as she pleased. It was their fault she was trapped.

Her breath catches in her throat, her chest tightens, she closes her eyes tight, pleading herself not to cry. She stumbles to their bed and pulls back the dusty covers, sliding into her mothers side and tucking herself in. She can barely smell her mothers expensive perfume. She buries herself into the bed and wishes her body would disappear.

It was their fault. She whispers it to herself over and over again. She could place the blame on them, direct her anger, her despair towards them. They made her ugly, the enchantress only helped.

Her chest tightens painfully and her shoulders shake with a sob.

She desperately wants to believe it was their fault.

"_Santana," her father says, voice booming through his study. "I won't hear another word. You're to go away, to the summer castle until you can learn to bite your sharp tongue."_

"_Father, this summer, no, I have places to be and people to see. I am just now sixteen, I have suitors," Santana says, standing, brow knit together. Her fists are balled at her sides. _

"_Suitors? Santana, I believe your vicious words and arrogant behavior have scared off any potential suitor or _friend_ at this point," he says, rolling his eyes at her stance. "Your mother agrees. You are to take Quinn and Rachel and a few other servants and spend your summer learning to be a lady without an audience to spur on your hate." He crosses his arms and glares down at his daughter._

_Santana opens her mouth, a retort on the tip of her tongue. This is her father, though, the one man she does not lash out to. "Fine," she says, voice deep. "But I think it's a horribly unfair thing to do."_

"_Hopefully you'll learn your lesson"_

What hurts more than the fact that her appearance is repulsive is that the fault is entirely her own. The reason she and everyone else is trapped and suffering is because of her.

And since being ugly is all she has known to be, she's completely terrified that there is no way to break the curse.

Especially when rose petals keep falling.

/

"Thanks," Brittany says, standing when Quinn does. "For the food and...everything."

"Of course," Quinn replies picking up the dishes and setting them on a cutting board to be taken care of in the morning.

Brittany stands awkwardly, hands fidgeting in front of her. "I guess I'll head to bed," she says, looking around the kitchen.

"Do you know your way?" Quinn asks, an eyebrow cocked.

Brittany nods a few times, slowly. "Vaguely," she says.

Quinn chuckles lightly. "I'll show you."

/

Quinn leads her through the castle, trying her best to explain the basic layout and point out land marks. Brittany does her best to keep all of the information trapped in her head, but it's almost as if she can feel it leaking out of her ears.

She asks questions whenever they strike her, though. "What's up that way?" She asks, pointing up a set of stairs.

"That," Quinn says, stopping to look up the stairs. "That is the west wing. Don't ever go there."

"Why not?" Brittany asks, forehead lightly wrinkled.

Quinn turns to look at her, locking their eyes. "Don't ever go there," she repeats.

"Alright," Brittany replies, nodding. She glances around the stairs, trying to commit them to memory.

Quinn leads her away, down a few corridors and past another set of stairs. "This is your room," she says, standing in front of Brittany's door.

Brittany recognizes it immediately. The door she was shown earlier in the night. She turns to look at Quinn. "Thanks, again," she says and means it.

Quinn shrugs.

Brittany reaches out and pulls Quinn into a tight, quick hug. Quinn's body stiffens and then softens almost immediately. She wraps her arms around Brittany. "You're welcome," she says quietly.

Brittany releases her grip and watches Quinn disappear down the corridor.

She waits until she's absolutely certain that Quinn is far enough away that she won't hear Brittany moving down the hall. She begins to back track, her curiosity making her mind work harder to find her way to the right stairwell. She feels wide awake as she arrives at the base of the stairs, leading to the forbidden west wing.

She stands for a minute at the bottom of the stairs.

The castle around her is silent, everyone sleeping. She takes a hesitant step up and when nothing happens, she climbs.

She follows the only corridor. It's lined with rusted suits of armor. She reaches out tentatively and touches the chest plate of one. The metal is cool and grainy under her touch. She moves farther down the dark corridor, up a small flight up stairs and finds herself looking down a shorter hallway.

The hall is in shambles. Tapestries have been pulled from the walls, suits of armor and statues pushed over and lay crumpled. The red rug lining the stone floor is curled up at places or torn. The door at the end of the hall is standing ajar.

Brittany looks behind her, checking to make sure that no one is watching her. She slowly walks forward, stepping carefully over the tears and bumps in the rug.

She peeks into the open doorway at the end of the hall. When she sees no one inside she steps in. She looks around and her eyebrows knit when she realizes it's in the same messy state as the hallway. Pieces of tables, chairs, and tapestry are lying everywhere. The vanity against the wall has a shattered mirror and the bed sheets are tangled in a heap in the middle of the bed.

The room is full of angry, heavy energy, it makes her skin crawl and her scalp prickle.

Brittany takes a step towards a picture hanging on the wall. It looks as if someone has taken a knife to it and slashed through it, the canvas is torn. With shaking hands she lifts the hanging shred of canvas back up into place. It's a portrait, with dark eyes, eyes Brittany knows...

A small flash of red catches the corner of her eyes. She turns quickly, afraid of being caught, heart pounding quickly against her chest.

On the far side of the room atop a spindly legged table sits a rose. It hovers a few inches off of the table inside a glass cover. Brittany's eyes widen at the sight. She's never seen magic, even though she's heard of it so much from when she used to travel with her father.

She crosses the room carefully, each step bathing her in a red glow from the rose. She stands in front of the table and very carefully pulls the glass cover off. She sets it gently on the ground beside her.

The rose hovers in front of her, glowing softly red. She reaches out a hand to touch it, feel if the petals are like silk on her fingertips.

"What are you doing?"

Brittany turns quickly, bumping slightly into the table. The rose shifts and the hand mirror beside it nearly slips off the table.

Santana stands, framed in the doorway. Her face is slack, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

"I was just," Brittany begins, taking a step away from the mysterious rose.

"Get out," Santana says, quietly.

"I...what?" Brittany stops.

"Just...get out," Santana says, eyes raking over everything in the room. She crosses the room quickly, brushing past Brittany as if she isn't even there. She recovers the rose and lays a hand on the glass case. She stares at it before looking up at Brittany.

Their eyes meet.

"Get out of here. Leave," she says, teeth bared and jaw tight.

"I'm sorry," Brittany begins, unable to pull her eyes away from Santana. She's never seen so many different emotions swirling around someone's eyes at once.

"Get out!"

Brittany's legs seem to work before her mind does. She bolts towards the door and down the corridor.

"Leave me," Santana says quietly, clutching at the glass case.


	6. Chapter 5

**AN:** Thanks for the reviews and alerts. I know the updates are getting farther and farther apart but I've had super crazy work schedules these past few weeks and then my car broke and I got sick and it's just been so crazy. Anyway, this chapter is unbeta'd because I'm being lazy.

Also, I know a few people have said things about Santana's appearance/whatever else. If you have any questions/comments/concerns, you can find me at tumblr as Penelope Cross. Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Brittany runs like she never has before. Her feet are light beneath her as she bolts through the castle. She isn't sure how she manages to find her way out; the corridors and passages through the hall all look the same and she can barely see past her tunnel vision her heart beat has swathed her in. She does though, luckily all stairs seems to filter back to the entrance hall.

She pushes open one of the heavy wooden double doors and flies down the stone path.

The air is cool and whips around her as she runs, pulling at her hair and the hem of her dress. It feels nice on her skin, which she realizes now is hot, very hot. She feels like her blood is on fire, ignited by fear and adrenalin and whatever else has become caught up in the torrent of emotions she's feeling. She inhales a gulp of air and doesn't stop moving until she's pushing open the creaking gates. When the gate is open enough for her to squeeze through her feet take off again. Her chest feels like someone's squeezing it and her breathing is labored, as if she's just spent hours chasing children through the town square.

She doesn't think about Quinn or Rachel or Philippe.

She can only think of Santana. The way Santana's eyes burned angrily makes Brittany's scalp tingle and fingers clench at the fabric of her skirt as she runs.

She heads down a dirt path for what feels like days. Her heart is beating so hard against her chest – harder than it ever has – and she's afraid it's going to explode. Her feet won't slow. She wants to leave it all behind; the curse, the castle and Santana and her dark, deep eyes. She won't stop until she gets home.

She's afraid if she does, she might turn back.

There are still so many mysteries around the castle and it's inhabitants.

She stumbles, lost in thought. Her foot catches in a hole in the road and she tumbles hard to the ground. She rolls onto her back and remains there, unmoving feeling clumsy and hopeless. She breathes deeply, in and out, trying to still her frantic heartbeat and shaking hands.

When her breathing becomes her own again and her chest begins to rise and fall evenly she pushes herself up into a sitting position, crossing her legs under her skirt. She sighs, closing her eyes. After a few moments she opens them and looks around.

The trees surrounding the path are naked for the winter, their spindly arms rising into the air at jarring angles. Brittany follows the path of the branches up until she locates the only source of light she has. Her eyes have adjusted to the darkness and as she stares nearly full moon hovering over head, she's afraid she'll lose her keen sight. She can trace the thumbnail shadow, the space the moon has left to grow until it hangs heavy and complete.

She watches the moon for a few moments longer before standing up and dusting off her skirt.

She looks around, unsure of what to do next.

Her sigh covers the sound of a twig snapping in the woods behind her.

/

As Brittany disappears down the hall Santana closes her eyes tight. She moves her hands from the glass case to the side of the table and squeezes tightly.

_She's gone._

_You're alone._

She yells out her frustration and turns. Her eyes scour her room looking for something – anything – she can hit or kick or damage.

Everything is already broken.

She exhales a small sob. Her forehead creases. She turns to the table and grabs the hand mirror. She keeps her eyes closed. "Show me the girl." Her voice is barely above a whisper.

She waits and then opens her eyes.

Brittany appears in the tiny mirror, glancing at her surroundings. A feeling flows over her skin, like water sliding down her back. She can't pinpoint it. Her breath steadies as she watches Brittany turn, trying to determine her location.

She grips the handle to the mirror tightly and moves to her four poster bed, holding onto one of the posts for support. She mouths Brittany's name.

She sees movement behind Brittany in the mirror. Her heart skips a beat when she sees the creature slinking forward, closer, closer.

The mirror barely makes a sound as it drops onto the bed, the image of Brittany turning towards the woods flashing across the surface.

/

Brittany turns sharply, staring hard into the trees. She could have sworn she heard a sound. It was low like a hum or a–

Not a growl. She shakes her head, trying to banish the thought. "I'm out here alone and got a little spooked," she tells herself, knotting her hands into the fabric of her skirt. "There's nothing there."

A distinct growl filters through the trees.

Brittany's heart skips a beat. She feels blood draining to her feet, making them unresponsive and heavy. She stands still, unable to move or breath.

The wolf slinks from the trees. It's teeth bared, it growls low and deep.

The sound roots Brittany to the spot.

The animal slinks forward, circling around Brittany.

She let's her eyes follow it, but can't bring any other part of her to move. She watches as it sinks low, it's muscles taut. It lunges at her.

She isn't sure how she manages to duck her body down and roll, but she does. Heart hammering, she pushes herself up onto her knees. She turns around and sees yellow teeth, red gums, glinting eyes and throws her arms up for protection.

/

The wolf whines and topples off Brittany. She looks up, startled to see it roll across the ground away from her. Her eyes dart away from the wolf, trying to figure out what happened and she sees it, a cloaked figure approaching the wolf quickly. The figure is menacing in the moon light and moves with an anger and energy that Brittany recognizes.

"Santana?" She whispers.

/

Santana picks up another rock, holding the heavy stone in her hand. She glances at Brittany once to see if she's alright and averts her eyes quickly when she sees Brittany staring hard at her.

The wolf springs to it's feet and turns to Santana, growling.

Santana grips the rock and feels her jaw tightening painfully, teeth grit together. She raises her arm and throws the rock as hard as she can. The wolf ducks and lunges again.

/

Footsteps. That's what it sounded like. People running, yelling.

Rachel wanders down the halls looking for any sign of the commotion she is sure she heard.

Sleep was hard to come by for Rachel that night. She laid in bed, staring at the ceiling for what felt like decades before finally falling into a light sleep. Her body jolted awake, though, after what felt like only seconds. She was dreaming about running or chasing, she can't quite remember the details and she tripped, body jolting her out of her dream. Resigned to the fact that sleeping probably wasn't coming for her that night she got up and wandered around the castle, stopping in random rooms to check what state they were in.

She was about to head towards the west wing when she heard the noises echoing through the corridors.

She stops at the bottom of the stairs to Santana's part of the castle. Exhaling, she follows the steps up.

The door to Santana's room is open.

Something in Rachel's heart flutters in an anxious way. She moves quickly to the door, staring into the room. Everything looks the same, but Santana is gone.

A flash of something catches her eye.

She steps cautiously into the room, toward the bed. She looks down at the mirror. She watches, wide eyed as a wolf lunges at Santana, teeth sinking into her arm. She gasps, hand flying to her chest.

She runs from the room, willing her anxiety to quiet down as she makes her way towards the stables to find Finn.

/

Santana cries out in pain as the wolf's teeth sink into her arm. She falls back hard and feels the air leave her lungs. The sensation is terrifying. No matter how hard she tries she can't quite get enough air or the right kind down into her lungs. She tries not to panic, but air isn't flowing and the wolf weighs heavy on top of her. She chokes out a noise that sounds horrifying in her head. The wolf's teeth rip into her skin. It growls, hot breath making Santana's stomach summersault.

"Hey!" A voice echoes around Santana.

The wolf growls and releases her arm, snapping at her face. She uses her right arm to punch it hard in the muzzle, left arm cradled close to her chest. It's a desperate move and the only thing she could think to do. The wolf whines lightly and pulls away from Santana.

"Hey!" The voice calls again.

The wolf whines, something collides with it's side; Santana can feel the force behind whatever hit it causing it to back off of her, claws ripping at her dress and cloak. She reaches up with her right hand again and rams her fist straight into the wolf's soft nose. It whines loudly and scrambles on top of her, trying to distance itself. She pulls her leg up and kicks the wolf hard in the side. The wolf stumbles but recovers quickly, baring it's teeth and sinking low to the ground.

Thinking quickly, Santana picks up the closest thing to her, a heavy rock. When the wolf lunges again she meets it head on with the stone. The blow lands with a sickening crack and a high pitched whine from the wolf. It slides to the ground, lying limp.

Santana let's the rock fall and pushes herself a few feet away. She inhales deep gulps of air. It's cool and refreshing and smells like the woods. Woods she hasn't been out in for so long. Her eyes drift up towards the clear night sky...

"Is it dead?" A shaking voice asks.

Santana jumps and turns quickly.

Brittany is standing a few feet away from her, a stick hanging loosely from her right hand.

Santana doesn't say anything. She looks down at her bloody hands and the gashes on her arm. She takes a shaky breath and tries to stand.

There's a lot of blood. It runs out of her like water.

Her body feels light, like she hasn't eaten for days.

She blinks a few times and the world around her becomes muffled until it disappears completely.

/

Brittany drops the stick and moves forward.

She's never been more confused about what to do in her entire life. Santana's body is limp on the ground in front of her.

Brittany's eyebrows knit together in deep concentration. She moves to Santana's side and kneels down, sighing. She knots her hands in her skirt and pulls hard, wincing at the sound of fabric tearing. The cold air on her newly exposed feet makes her shiver. She reaches out slowly and wraps the shred of cloth around Santana's bleeding arm gently. She pulls a firm knot to keep it in place, watching Santana's face for any sign of movement or anger.

She frowns and delicately places a hand on Santana's chest.

She feels the girls heart thumping against her hand.

She exhales a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

"Why did you do that?" She whispers into the night.

/

"If you don't hold still and let me clean it then it'll get infected," Rachel says, bossily. She moves the warm cloth to Santana's arm and gently wipes it across the sensitive skin.

Santana hisses, teeth bared. Brittany thinks her resemblance to the wolf is striking and finds herself giggling.

Three sets of eyes fall on her. She feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment and looks down at the red carpet she's sitting on. She's huddled in the corner of a sitting room off of the entrance hall, the same room she saw Quinn and Rachel emerge from her first night in the castle.

Quinn is the first to direct the conversation back towards Santana. "Quit whining," she says. Her arms are crossed over her chest.

"Don't tell me what to do in my castle," Santana snaps, throwing a glance at Quinn.

"Santana," Rachel begins in a soft voice. "We want to help you. We want what's best for you. It will only hurt for a second."

Santana scoffs. "What good have you two done me?" Her eyes fall to the carpet.

Rachel's movements still and she adjusts herself on her stool.

Brittany frowns slightly and stands up. She feels all eyes on her again as she moves across the room and kneels down by Santana's chair. "May I?" She asks tentatively, staring up at Rachel.

Rachel opens her mouth, but closes it quickly. She nods and offers Brittany the warm, damp rag she was using to clean Santana's wound. She stands from the stool, offering it to Brittany. Brittany remains kneeling on the floor, eye level with Santana's arm.

Santana's breath catches slightly in the back of her throat. She pulls back, sitting as far into the chair as she can.

Brittany dips the rag into the small basin of hot water by the stool. She squeezes out the excess and brings it to Santana's arm. She wipes it gently around the edge of the bite marks.

"You can't just treat people like that," Brittany says suddenly.

Her eyes snap to Brittany face. The girls expression is firm, concentrating on the task at hand. "They're my servants," Santana says automatically.

"They're still people."

Santana pauses for a beat, unsure. "Well...what do you know about it? Nothing."

"Possibly," Brittany says softly. She moves the cloth closer to the wound. Santana's muscles tense and she grabs the arm rest hard. "But I know a lot about things most people don't know about."

Santana pauses, narrowing her eyes at Brittany. She searches Brittany's face for any crack or crevice, any sign of a joke. Brittany's expression stays firm, almost protective. She dips the cloth back into the water and grimaces at the pink tinge it's now sporting.

"Like what?" Santana scoffs.

Brittany's hand pauses. She sighs. "Well, I know about dancing." She dabs gently around the nearest bite mark. "I know about the clouds, I spend a lot of time watching them. I know which ones mean storms and which ones just mean it'll be a cloudy day. I know about instruments."

"How is that helpful?" Santana's voice isn't as harsh as it was before. Curiosity overcomes the anger.

Brittany sighs, face softening just enough that Santana feels it's solely for her. She flinches as Brittany gently rests the cloth on a bite mark and wipes away the drying blood. Her grip on the arm rest tightens. She flinches again, harder, when Brittany's soft hand lands on her own. Santana's eyes snap up to Brittany's face. Her heart beat picks up, face becoming warm.

Brittany glances down at the bite marks. She blows cool air on the wound to soothe the pain she knows Santana must be feeling. She looks up to Santana again, keeping her face as serious and as gentle as she can. Without a trace of humor Brittany states: "Because I see things most people miss or overlook or ignore." She stares boldly into Santana's eyes, waiting for a response.

Santana's heart flutters and she ducks her head to look at her arm, eyes sliding down to the hand resting on her own. Brittany's skin is moon pale against her darker tone, even darker now with only the crackling fire to light the room. The contrast speaks to Santana, telling her something she doesn't fully understand. Her eyes wander Brittany's delicate fingers, smooth skin, up her slightly freckled arms. She stops.

"Thank you for saving my life," Brittany says quietly.

Santana's eyes follow the rest of the path, up her neck, past Brittany's slightly pink cheeks, up to meet deep blue. "You're welcome," she replies quietly. The words feel foreign in her mouth.

/

"We need to talk," Quinn's voice snaps. Santana jerks, startled out of her own thoughts.

She turns sharply, glaring hard at Quinn and feeling accosted. "You can't just barge into my room," Santana spits back at her. She crosses her arms over her chest.

"Why didn't you tell me you could leave?" The words tumble out of Quinn's mouth quickly. Her voice wavers slightly.

Santana's body relaxes and her forehead wrinkles. "What are you talking about?" She narrows her eyes at Quinn.

"You left the castle to get Brittany," Quinn says, voice low. She speaks slowly. "Why did you not tell me you could _leave?_" She nearly screams the last word.

Santana takes a step back. She opens her mouth and then stops. Her head tilts slightly. "I didn't know," she says, barely above a whisper.

"What?" Quinn barks.

Santana shakes her head. "I didn't know." She shifts her feet. "I didn't know I could leave...I wasn't thinking."

Quinn's snarl disappears, but her forehead stays crinkled. Her eyes dart across the floor as if she's looking for something she's dropped.

"Quinn?"

"I tried to leave. I stood by the gate and I couldn't even move."

Santana takes a half step forward, repositioning her weight. "What do you-"

Quinn turns and leaves before Santana can say anything else.

/

Brittany wakes up, but keeps her eyes closed. The cloud soft bed beneath her is so different from her cot at the cottage. She exhales softly and her eyes flutter open. She stays still and stares at the canopy above her.

Some part of her is a little surprised to find that she's still in the castle, that this isn't a dream. Another part of her is surprised that she isn't upset about that.

She throws the covers off of her body and stretches like a cat. She sits up and swings her legs over the bed. She looks around. She still can't believe they gave her a room that's so..._big._

"More space than I know what to do with," she mumbles.

She stands up and moves around the room, inspecting everything. The vanity with a very thin layer of dust on it. She smiles at her reflection in the mirror and picks up a brush, dusting it against her nightgown, and runs it through her hair. Her eyes wander over the wardrobe standing in the corner of the room and land on the curtains.

They're heavy looking curtains. She crosses the room and reaches out hesitantly. Their gold and red pattern looks too regal and delicate for touching. She places a hand on the fabric and wrinkles her nose. It's dusty, the fabric mealy and dry on her fingertips. She wrestles to pull the curtain back, coughing as a puff of dust is released into the air.

Sunlight streams in and Brittany watches the dust float around the room like snow. She squints her eyes against the bright rays of the morning sun and pulls the second curtain back as well. The room brightens.

"Much better," she says, smiling.

/

Her dress from last night is still ripped. She found a dress in the wardrobe and pulled it on, hoping no one would mind.

She walks through the hallways of the castle, stopping every time she sees a closed curtain to pull it open. Every one releases a plume of dust that makes her nose wrinkle and throat dry. By the time she makes it to the entrance hall she feels like if she sneezes again her nose will fall off. The castle feels less claustrophobic, though, knowing that that the windows are open make Brittany feel like she has more room to move.

When she reaches the top of the stairs in the entrance hall, she realizes she has no idea where everyone congregates in the morning. She purses her lips in concentration before flitting down the stairs to check the den she helped clean Santana's wounds in the night before. Her shoulders slump when it's interior proves empty. There are three more doors in the entrance hall, she's about to try another when Rachel's voice reverberates around her.

"There you are!"

Brittany turns quickly, heart beating a bit faster. She feels like she did when she was a kid and her father would find her stealing sugar from the cabinets. "Oh, hello," she says, clearing her throat.

"I went to fetch you from your room but you were gone," Rachel says, taking a few steps down the stairs. "Come on, I've got some breakfast made for us."

"Oh," Brittany says, feeling relieved. She relaxes, her stiff shoulders slumping naturally. "That's so nice." She joins Rachel on the stairs.

"What's nice is you," Rachel says, smiling. Brittany notices how it feels different than usual, not that she's been around long enough to notice a usual smile Rachel has. It's softer, as if she's in deep, pleasant thoughts.

"You're nice too," Brittany says.

Rachel playfully rolls her eyes. "Just this way."

Brittany tries her hardest to pay attention to the different corridors Rachel leads her through. She tries to find objects lining the walls or paintings to use at landmarks. The kitchen feels like a vital place to learn to get to.

Rachel motions for Brittany to step and first. Brittany curtsies to her, playfully and walks into the kitchen. It smells warm and sweet, like the bakery that Brittany and her father used to

Her father. The thought dulls everything around her, the smells, the way the kitchen looks during the daytime, the sound of Rachel scooting a plate of roles towards her.

"Brittany?"

"Yes?" Brittany replies, realizing Rachel must to have said her name at least two times. "Sorry, what is it?"

Rachel tilts her head slightly. "Would you like a sweet role?"

"Most definitely," Brittany says. The bread is still warm in her hands and her mouth literally waters when she takes the first bite. Her tongue feels like it's going to burst. She didn't know you could put so much flavor into just one bite. "This is fantastic," she mutters around a mouth full of bread.

Rachel grins at her and nods. "They're Santana's favorite."

Brittany stops chewing for a moment. She blinks a few times before resuming to chew, much slower. She swallows hard, eager to ask a question. "Rachel," she pauses. "Is she alright?"

Rachel sets her role back on the plate and wipes her hands on a cloth sitting close by. "She probably needs to have her bandages changed," Rachel mumbles, frowning at the table. "I think she'll be fine. She's probably more shocked than anything."

"I would be too, that wolf was terrifying. We were lucky," she glances up at Rachel.

"Yes," Rachel says slowly. "Yes, I suppose that would be shocking."

Brittany's eyebrows scrunch together. She tilts her head slightly and opens her mouth to answer a question when Quinn bursts into the kitchen. Brittany jumps a little in her seat, turning to look at Quinn. Her hair is sticking out slightly in places, her eyes dark, her body stiff.

"Rachel," Quinn begins, but stops abruptly when she notices Brittany sitting at the table as well.

"Quinn?" Rachel prompts.

Quinn straightens up, her face softens. She wipes her hands over the front of her apron and gives Rachel a meaningful look. Brittany watches Rachel nod subtly and wishes she isn't so out of the loop.

"Morning Brittany," Quinn says. The shift in her tone is remarkable to Brittany. The way Quinn spoke to Rachel merely seconds before was full of anger and energy, her voice now is calm, reserved, bordering sweet. She isn't sure if she should be impressed with Quinn's self control or worried they're hiding something pivotal from her.

"Morning," Brittany smiles at Quinn. She'll let the matter lie for now. "Rachel was just showing me this amazing bread. Have you tried it?"

"Of course," Quinn says, pulling a piece from the table. "I cooked it."

Brittany looks at the perfectly shaped roles then back to Quinn. "That's wonderful. You are so much better than our baker in town. He's okay but his bread is so mealy sometimes. And his wife, she's horrible."

Quinn exhales a small chuckle. "I'm glad you like them."

"I can see why they're Santana's favorite," Brittany mumbles, grabbing another piece of bread from the plate.

Quinn cocks an eyebrow at Rachel who shrugs, small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Brittany watches the exchange surreptitiously. "I was thinking," she begins, drawing their attention to her. "Would it be alright for me to explore the castle?"

Rachel opens her mouth.

"Outside," she adds hastily. "I know it snowed last night and it's a little cold but I'd like to see the grounds." The words seem to spring a leak in some dam deep in her mind. "Oh, I borrowed this dress because mine was dirty and ripped and I hope that's okay. Do you know where Philippe is? I left him outside and he doesn't like the cold and I was hoping I could see him because he's my only friend." She pauses, eyes going wide. "I mean, you're my friends, he's my old friend."

"Okay," Quinn nods. She grins at Brittany, amused.

"I will check with Santana if you can explore," Rachel begins, standing up.

Quinn grabs her by the elbow and pulls her down, grin never faltering. "Of course you can. Help yourself to whatever clothes you can find, I know we have some winter cloaks put away if you would like one."

"Thank you, Quinn," Brittany says, smiling at her and then Rachel.

Rachel looks as if she wants to say something and sighs, rolling her eyes at Quinn.

They sit for a while, talking, laughing, listening to any story Brittany will tell them about the world outside. It's nice for Brittany to sit with friends, people she feels comfortable talking to, people she isn't afraid will mock her if she doesn't say the right thing.

She feels it's so odd, to feel this much relief after everything that's happened. She knows she should be more upset, worried about her father, how he's managing without her. She knows she should be focusing on a way to get out of here, to convince Santana to let her go again, though properly with a lamp, at least.

It's hard to fight the feeling bubbling in her chest. It's a feeling she hasn't felt in years, not since she was a child and discovered dance. She sighs and sits back in her chair. Content, she thinks is the word and laughs at something Quinn has just said to Rachel, leaving the brunette looking scandalized.


	7. Chapter 6

******AN: Well hey all! Long time no see. Sorry for the super long month delay. Between the worst work schedule I've seen in ever and being busy and having the most severe case of writers block I've ever seen...the words just haven't been flowing. This is the first real thing I've written in nearly a month. It's a little rough but don't loose faith, next chapter will be stronger, hopefully.  
><strong>

**Anyway. Thank you for the reviews, I'm glad someone is liking this. Enjoy.  
><strong>

**Chapter 6**

With the sun shining high in the sky and the ground covered in glistening snow, the castle doesn't seem nearly as intimidating as it has before. Brittany slides her hands up Philippe's neck, twisting them in his mane to try and keep her fingers warm. She shivers and leans against the horse, humming softly.

It feels nice to be outside, even if it is frigid. She releases the mane and pulls the riding cloak Quinn gave her tighter around her shoulders. Luckily for Brittany, the wind isn't blowing.

"Come on pony," she says softly, taking a few steps forward. It's a bit harder work, pushing through the snow, especially in her dress. Philippe follows, trailing behind in Brittany's footprints.

She stops trudging through the snow when she's disappeared around the side of the castle, where the gardens are. The flowers are drooping under the heavy snow and the pathway through the maze of plants is covered with untouched snow. Brittany exhales, watching the way her breath billows like smoke in front of her.

She frowns at the snow. Two days ago the weather was lovely; sunny and warm, she had laid outside cloud gazing and now it is so cold she can barely feel her feet.

/

Santana watches Brittany wade through the snow from her balcony. She's too far away to make out more than an outline, but Santana is almost positive she can see every single line of Brittany; her soft hands that touched her own so gently last night, her cheeks, tinged pink by the cold, her eyes a lighter blue than they were in the firelight.

"Santana?"

Santana's body jolts slightly, heat rushing to her face. "Rachel?"

"I didn't mean to startle you," Rachel says quickly, stepping onto the balcony.

"You didn't. What do you want?" Santana stays facing the grounds, but averts her eyes from Brittany figure.

"Brittany," Rachel begins.

"Is outside. I see that," Santana says, slowly. Her eyes fall back to Brittany, who turns around. Santana takes a step backwards and pulls the hood of her cloak over her head.

"Is that...okay?" Rachel asks quietly.

Santana stays for a moment, watching Brittany search the castle before turning around and moving back towards the gardens. Santana crosses her arms and turns to Rachel. "It's fine. She can do as she pleases."

Santana glares hard as Rachel's eyes scan across her face. Her pulse quickens, she flexes her hands. "What?" She barks the word at Rachel and anger flares inside of her. Brittany's words from the previous night echo in her head. She sighs. "What is it, Rachel?"

"Nothing, I just," she pauses and looks down at her hands, clasped together in front of her. She shakes her head and looks up. "Nothing."

"Alright," Santana says and forces her voice to soften.

Rachel nods once, before turning towards the door.

Santana glances back to Brittany, who is attempting to remove the snow covering the flowers. The words leave her mouth before she even knows what she's saying. "I would like to do something for her."

"I'm sorry?" Rachel asks, turning around abruptly.

Santana clears her throat. She can't decide where to look; at Brittany, at Rachel, at her feet. She settles on picking at her nails. "For Brittany. What do you think I...we could do for her?"

Rachel opens her mouth and then shuts it. She scrunches her eyebrows together and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "I don't..." She pauses and Maurice's words seep back to the forefront of her mind. "Maurice said she likes to dance."

Santana cringes at the name. She blinks a few times, trying to erase the memory of dragging him to the tower, banishing him from the castle. The way Brittany cried that night...

"Dancing," Santana repeats. She clears her throat again. "The ballroom. What state is it in?"

Rachel scoffs. "It needs a lot of work," she says, looking up at Santana.

"Well," Santana says, meeting her eyes for half a second before turning towards the balcony railing again. "Get to it, if you don't mind." Santana pauses. "Keep it a secret from her. Keep her away from it until it's ready."

Rachel feels her lips tug up into a smile. She nods her head. "Of course." She walks calmly through Santana's room and down the hall. When she's sure she's far enough away not to be heard, she breaks into a jog, wondering where exactly she can find Quinn.

/

"Rachel, there you are," Quinn says, shrugging her shoulders and making a show to roll her eyes. "I needed to talk to you."

"Yes, but you'll never believe what Santana has just told me," Rachel interrupts. She bounces on the balls of her feet.

Quinn turns back to the dough she's been kneading with her hands.

Rachel moves to Quinn's side and places a hand on her arm. "Quinn. Santana wants us to have the ballroom cleaned. For Brittany."

Quinn's hands halt above the dough. She blows a strand of hair out of her face and stares hard at Rachel, letting her eyes wander over the girls face looking for any sign that she is joking. When Rachel's face remains smiling and excited Quinn straightens and leans against the counter. She stares hard at the floor. "You don't think..."

"It's the first act of kindness that we have seen from Santana since the curse," Rachel says, stepping closer to Quinn. "Brittany seems to have a way with her."

Quinn's forehead crinkles as her mind moves quickly. She's known Santana longer than anyone else in the castle. She knows Rachel's words are accurate; Santana has never shown favor to someone so quickly. "The curse," she mumbles.

"_If she can learn to love another and earn their love in return_," Rachel recites quickly. She moves closer to Quinn. "The ballroom is proof. I informed her that Brittany likes to dance, well, that Maurice told us that when he arrived and it was _her _idea _for_ Brittany. To _surprise_ Brittany."

"Well, well, well," Quinn says, turning back to the dough.

"Tina and I are going to start immediately. I will need you to make sure that Brittany does not discover what we are up to. I know the ballroom isn't in an ideal location, being right off the entrance hall, but still. I believe we can manage." Rachel pauses, looking past Quinn, past the kitchen and compiling a list of all of the tasks she needs to begin. "But you wanted to speak with me?" She shakes herself and looks back to Quinn.

Quinn's shoulder's drop and her hands still again. "Yes," she says, pulling her fingers away from the sticky dough. She turns to face Rachel again and her face hardens. "Santana left the castle."

Rachel's eyes narrow a small amount. "Yes, to save Brittany."

"No, Rachel. Santana left the castle."

"Quinn, I am aware. I'm the one who saw them in the mirror."

"No, Rachel, Santana _left the castle_," Quinn hisses, her left hand absentmindedly squeezing the dough until it gushes between her fingers.

Rachel opens her mouth to speak, but stops. Her mouth closes and her eyes widen. "She did, didn't she?" Her tone of voice is quieter, slightly deeper. She glances down. "But..."

"Exactly," Quinn says, shaking her hand free of the dough. "She left and claims she didn't know she could."

"But why would she lie?" Rachel asks in earnest. "Quinn, I know she's sometimes...mean, but she wouldn't lie about being able to leave. If anything she would flaunt it in front of us."

"I know," Quinn mumbles, looking up at Rachel, then past her. "I tried leaving. I stood by the gate and I..." She sighs and focuses back on Rachel. "Only she can leave, apparently."

"And Finn," Rachel adds in a soft voice, glancing down.

"And Finn," Quinn repeats.

Both girls remain quiet, keeping their eyes averted. Rachel is the first the to break the silence. "Quinn...what do you..." She pauses and shifts her weight. "What do you think this means?"

Quinn sighs and turns back to the counter top, determined to finish her break. "I honestly have no idea, Rachel."

/

"What's going on?"

"Brittany!" Quinn and Rachel stop mid-stride. They exchange a quick glance before Quinn steps towards Brittany, smiling wide. "I was just thinking about you. I need your help in the kitchen."

Brittany narrows her eyes slightly, leaning to the left slightly to glance around Quinn. Rachel smiles sweetly at her and moves the bucket of water she's holding in her hands behind her back. "But what were you doing?" Brittany straightens and looks back to Quinn.

Quinn opens her mouth before sighing, shoulders dropping. "It's just something silly Santana is making us do." Quinn waves a hand at Rachel who begins to move away, towards a pair of double doors Brittany realizes she's never been in before. Quinn's hand on her elbow pulls her attention away from Rachel. "I could really use your help," Quinn says quietly.

Brittany nods slowly and follows Quinn to the kitchen. She looks over her shoulders a few times, hoping she can remember the way from her room to the entryway.

/

When Brittany is finally able to remove herself to her room for the night she collapses on the bed immediately. She sighs heavily and wipes her forearm across her forehead. Quinn kept her busy all afternoon, cooking and cleaning and preparing dinner and showing her new things about the castle; explaining it's history and how Santana's parents had acquired this piece or which Duke or Duchess gave them this painting. She knew it was all a distraction to keep her from the double doored room she never noticed before.

Too bad for Quinn and Rachel that once something curious crosses Brittany's path she becomes enthralled. Her father always used to tell her that curiosity killed the cat, but Brittany has at least three healthy cats and always meddles.

She rolls over on the bed, lying on her stomach. She buries her face in the soft blanket and bunches it up underneath her head like a pillow.

She knows she should get up and sneak around the castle to figure out what Quinn and Rachel are up to, but she can't find the energy. She's so tired after her long walk in the snow, her work with Quinn.

She falls asleep wondering how Santana spends her days.

/

When Brittany wakes up the next morning she stretches her body and opens her eyes slowly. Her room is so much brighter than it was the previous day. She sits up on the bed and smiles at the curtains, pulled back and letting the morning sunlight stream in.

Her room is warm and she moves around getting ready as quickly as possible.

Excitement moves in her and makes her feel ready for adventure, for sneakiness, for figuring out what Quinn and Rachel were trying to hide from her. She couldn't get the room out of her head –or rather, what lies beyond it. A new day meant a new attempt to figure out what was happening, what the the buzz in the castle she felt yesterday was about. She exits her room feeling confident.

She still isn't completely sure how to move through the castle, though. She tries anyway, moving through corridors and smiling to herself when she notices the curtains she opened yesterday are still open. It makes her heart beat a little harder and her smile hurt her cheeks just a bit. Brittany couldn't say why it matters so much, but for some reason it does.

She turns a corner and begins to walk quickly down the corridor. She knows she's close to the entrance hall, she can feel it. She turns what feels to be the fiftieth corner and jumps down the three steps leading to the top of the staircase in the entrance hall. She laughs at herself and quickly covers her mouth, hoping no one heard her laughter.

"Victory," she mumbles, standing at the top of the stairs. The entrance way is deserted, no Quinn to give her chores or Rachel to distract her. She glides down the steps quickly and her heart beats a little faster when she realizes that the door to the mysterious room is slightly ajar.

"There you are!"

Quinn's voice scares her and Brittany jumps, turning quickly. "I've been looking all over for you!" Quinn smiles brightly at Brittany and Brittany tries to return it. She can't help but feel disappointed, though oddly resigned.

"I'm sure," she mumbles. "Where am I needed now?"

Quinn either doesn't hear or ignores Brittany's sour tone of voice. "In the stables, something about Philippe."

"Right," Brittany replies. She moves towards the double doors leading out of the castle. She casts a furtive look over her shoulder at the door, which has been firmly closed by a smiling Quinn.

/

The next three days progress the same way. Any time Brittany tries to sneak away to the mystery room or explore the castle or breath – Quinn seems to be there, armed with a chore to be done or a story to keep Brittany occupied.

Brittany is certain it will never end and on the fourth day, she's about to give up.

/

Her walk from her room isn't sneaky or quick. Brittany knows Quinn is waiting around one of the many corners she has to turn. Quinn has been in the castle longer and knows everything about it Brittany doesn't, all of the secret ways and hidden routes.. She knows she'll see the room eventually, but her plan of action needs to change.

She's in her own head, thinking of the best way to get into the room when she runs into something.

The collision is quick and startles Brittany. Her body jolts as she's pushed backwards. She panics, feeling her heart hammer in her chest. She fears she's knocked over another suit of armor, but when she hears no horrible clamor and realizes that the thing she has bumped into is warm instead of cold metal, she looks up quickly.

Santana glares at her through narrow eyes.

"Oh!" Brittany's mouth forms the shape as she stares at Santana. When she realizes just how long she's been staring she sucks her lips into her mouth and looks down at the red carpet, to the tapestry on the wall, to the ornate moldings along the line where wall meets ceiling...

"I was looking for you," Santana says in her rough tone.

Brittany's eyes flick back to Santana and lock on her face, her dark eyes.

Santana looks away and clears her throat. She crosses her arms. Brittany eyes follow the motion. She lets her eyes linger over Santana, her floor length velvet red dress, with it's black pattern and Santana's dark purple riding cloak that she never seems to be without.

"Why?" Brittany's eyes flick upward when she registers Santana clearing her throat.

"I have...something to show you," Santana says. She tilts her head and Brittany watches as her mouth twitches slightly.

"Alright."

/

"Now, keep them closed," Santana says.

Brittany swears it's the fifteenth time Santana's told her to keep her eyes closed. Any other day she may have found it annoying, today is different, though. The reminder makes her grin broaden and her cheeks ache with excitement. She feels giddy, the way she did as a child when her father would wrap a scarf around her eyes before revealing her birthday gift to her.

"I am," Brittany assures Santana.

"Don't ruin the surprise," Santana says. Her voice is different than Brittany has ever heard before. It's softer and full, a gentle fullness that Brittany associates with the way her fathers voice sounds. It makes the scratch in Santana's voice seem almost happy.

"I'm not," Brittany laughs.

"Alright, just keep them closed," Santana repeats.

Brittany giggles harder at the words. She keeps her eyes closed and tries to listen closely. A slight scraping and a sound of wood groaning, the doors opening. Footsteps approaching her. Brittany's body jolts. Warm, soft hands find her own and hold them gently, almost tender as if she's breakable. Her hands tingle, her body warms to the touch. She inhales shakily when she realizes the hands are Santana's.

"This way," Santana says so softly.

Brittany's lack of vision makes her feel disoriented and wide awake all at once. She can't see Santana, it's almost as if in the absence of her sight, she's feeling her. She knows Santana is standing close to her. She can feel her presence, the heat of her as it radiates off of her like sun rays. Brittany soaks in the warmth, nearly basking in the closeness. She thinks maybe it's just the lack of physical contact that makes Santana's body so close to her feel like a comfort.

Brittany nods and squeezes Santana's hands to let her know she understands – she can't yet find her words.

Santana's pulls her lightly forward, into the mysterious room.

It's the one thing Brittany has been striving for the past few days and she can't seem to concentrate on what mysteries she may about to behold. All she knows is Santana's hands in her own, firm and comforting and how her stomach feels as if she's swallowed butterflies. Her stomach flips in a way that makes her heart feel as if it's beating in her throat and keeping her words at bay. It's a new sensation Brittany has never had before and she wishes to savor it forever, never let it go; even if that means never finding out what's in the mysterious room.

Their combined footsteps echo loudly around them. Brittany is distracted from her own thoughts when she realizes that sounds in the room feel distorted. "Can I open my eyes?"

"Wait one more moment," Santana says with obvious excitement. She drops Brittany's hands without preamble and Brittany feels Santana leave her. The sudden coolness that rushes to greet her snatches the butterfly feeling away and Brittany shivers.

/

Santana nearly runs across the ballroom she is so excited. She's never surprised anyone with a gift. She isn't actually sure if she's ever given a gift, but the feeling is addicting, the thrill of it all. Especially since she knows Brittany deserves a gift.

Especially because it's Brittany.

The thought makes her stumble slightly over her cloak. She catches herself and blinks at the ground a few times.

"You alright?" Brittany's voice echoes.

Santana turns quickly. "I'm fine, keep your eyes closed."

Brittany's echoing giggle envelops Santana and reminds her what she's supposed to be doing. She moves quickly to the edge of the ballroom, throwing open all of the curtains. Sunlight streams in and for the first time in a very long time, Santana does not shy away from it.

The heat feels like homecoming on her face and she turns to Brittany. "Open curtains," she mumbles to herself. She walks back to Brittany. The excitement and anticipation feel like they've been washed away from her, as if the sun has doused her in it's light and scrubbed away all of her giddy feelings, replacing them with anxiety.

What if Brittany doesn't like it?

What if she doesn't like dancing?

What if it reminds her of her father and she hates Santana because of it?

The thoughts are so big they make Santana's stomach bubble and her heart pound in her chest so hard she feels faint. When she reaches Brittany's side she finds her hands again, slightly calloused but perfectly warm, inviting. The way they hold Santana's own like they're the two final pieces of a particularly hard puzzle.

"Ready?" Santana asks in a whisper.

/

Brittany smiles and nods. Santana's hands in her own makes the butterflies return.

"Open your eyes."

Brittany hesitates for a moment, knowing Santana with her other senses feels much better than knowing Santana through small conversations and averted eyes. She opens her eyes, though, remembering her conquest from the past few days.

She audibly gasps and grips Santana's hand, bringing it up to her chest and wrapping her other hand around it.

A ballroom.

A real ballroom.

Brittany has seen very few in her life, each one more beautiful than the last, but this ballroom literally takes her breath away. The floor is marble and looks gold and is so clean Brittany can see her reflection in it. The walls are decorated with blue and gold cloth and the room is surrounded by pillars which meet at one end at a staircase and the other at the entrance to a large balcony. A gold chandelier covered in what Brittany is certain must be dozens of candles hangs from the middle of the ceiling.

She takes a few slow steps forward, mouth open.

"Do you like it?"

Brittany turns, Santana's hand still clutched to her chest. They're so close together, closer than Brittany has ever stood to another woman. Her heart thuds in her chest and she knows Santana must feel it against her hand.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Brittany tells Santana, holding eye contact.

"Then it's yours," Santana says nearly breathless, as if the words have come out of their own volition.

Brittany exhales a small laugh and reacts on instinct. She pulls Santana close to her, dropping her hand and wrapping her arms around her body. When their bodies meet the butterflies in Brittany's stomach go wild, they dance and make her feel feather light. She smiles when she feels Santana's arms, rather stiffly, hug her around the neck.

Brittany feels like their bodies fit better together than their hands and is reluctant to pull apart.

Santana is the one to pull away first. She smiles at Brittany and glances down.

"It's wonderful," Brittany says, letting her eyes take in everything around her. It's still too much to take in at once. "Thank you, Santana."

/

Santana nods as Brittany moves away from her.

Her heart pounds, her head spins. She can feel heat in her face and she's afraid she's been struck by a sudden fever.

And yet, she can't stop smiling. Her mouth works on it's own accord, grinning broadly and rather foolishly as Brittany spins about more graceful than falling snow. When she turns back to Santana, and rushes forward, taking her hand in her own and asking for a dance, Santana can't help but oblige.

She feels almost certain that she wouldn't be able to deny Brittany anything, had she been asked in that moment.

"I've never really danced," Santana admits as Brittany places a hand on Santana's waist. The action causes Santana's body to jolt and her stomach to knot and her fever to return.

"You're a lady, you must know how to dance. You must have been to so many balls," Brittany says, smiling.

The glint in Brittany's eyes is something Santana feels she has seen before. It's familiar, as if she's seen it in a dream. Maybe in her father's eye when he spoke of her mother, or the way Quinn's eyes looked after her daughter was born. "I never enjoyed balls."

Brittany pauses and Santana can feel sharp blue eyes looking over her face. She takes a step back, dislodging Brittany's touch. "I'm not much of a dancer anyway."

A silence befalls the two and Santana knows it's her own fault.

The world has seemed to come crashing down on her. Her life as it was, what she has lost, what she is now. A beast, giving away ballrooms to a prisoner who is too beautiful and kind to be a prisoner. Everything feels muddled, Brittany's hands on her waist, Brittany's hands in her own, Brittany herself has left Santana feeling feverish and ill.

She wants the feelings to last forever and it worries her and scares for reasons she does not know.

"What do you think?"

For once in her life, Santana is relieved to have Rachel intrude.

"It's marvelous, now all I need is some music," Brittany says, taking a step away from Santana and engaging Rachel in conversation.

"Now all you need is a handsome young man to dance with," Rachel says.

Santana knows that Brittany is to dance with a young man, that she may have one back in her village that Santana doesn't know about. The thought of Brittany dancing with someone else, anyone that isn't her, leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

Brittany pulls Rachel into a sweeping dance, twirling her around as if it's the easiest thing in the world. Santana watches and feels her heart leaden with every passing moment. The warm, dizzy feeling she knew she was sharing with Brittany evaporates so fast Santana feels as if someone has taken the floor out from beneath her.

"What a nice thing you've done," Quinn says.

Santana's eyes never leave Brittany. "I suppose."

"I don't believe I've ever seen you be so generous to someone who doesn't have a title."

Santana remains quiet.

"And I've never been more fond of you than I am now."

Santana's eyes dart to the side to glare at Quinn.

"I'm sure Brittany feels the same."

Santana opens her mouth to spit something back at Quinn.

"That's the biggest smile I've seen on her yet."

Whatever insult about Quinn remembering her place Santana was planning on using is wiped away immediately. It's replaced with a soft bubbling sensation and a small half-smile of which Quinn can't help but take notice.


	8. Chapter 7

**AN: **Well hey there guys...long time no see... For those of you who don't follow me on Tumblr, I've been super busy at work. I got this promotion and I've had a ton of extra hours and training and online tests and things and it's been brutal. But I'm all caught up and getting back in the groove.

Special thanks to Tigerlily for giving me an extra push.

* * *

><p>It isn't really in her nature to be awkward.<p>

The townspeople always found it awkward to be around Brittany; her questions were always odd and answers so vague. She feels that the situation now is awkward and she can't for the life of her figure out a way to fix it. She sips at her soup, keeping her eyes off of Santana.

Neither of them have spoken for at least five minutes.

Brittany watches Santana without looking at her. She smiles into her spoonful of soup every time Santana opens her mouth, closes it with a shake of her head or huffs in irritation. She wants to comment, but feels she has no right when she finds herself in the same boat. Nothing she thinks to say seems worth it. Nothing is interesting or relevant enough. Brittany frowns, she's never had this much trouble talking to someone.

"So," Santana begins. She says the word quickly, voice a few pitches higher than normal.

Brittany's head jerks up, spoon still held in the air. "So," she repeats, gripping onto the first spoken word like a lifeline.

"Good...soup?"

Brittany glances away when Santana cringes at her own words. She smiles. "It's splendid, thank you."

"Quinn made it," Santana mumbles, swirling her spoon in her bowl.

"No, thank you for the lunch invitation," Brittany says, returning her spoon to her bowl and folding her hands into her napkin. She clears her throat and looks up, catching Santana's eye.

"You're welcome," Santana says softly.

Brittany isn't sure if things are more or less awkward after their exchange. Regardless, it becomes increasingly harder to keep herself from catching Santana's eye.

/

"Rachel thinks I need to be out of doors more," Santana says as she walks beside Brittany.

"Yes?" Brittany says. She keeps her eyes ahead. She and Santana walk so closely together their hands and wrists bump into one another on more than one occasion. Every time it happens Brittany's skin goes warm and her head fuzzy.

"I don't know why, there's snow everywhere. It's cold," Santana says. She looks everywhere but at Brittany.

"Outside is lovely," Brittany says, she hums softly and glances at Santana. Her heart thuds just a little harder, subtly faster. Her cheeks redden and a grin grows on her face. "The company is grand." She reaches her hand towards Santana's, the urge to hold it in her own sudden and strong.

Santana turns quickly to face Brittany. The look on her face is one Brittany has never seen before. Santana looks shocked, as if the most unimaginable has happened. Brittany clears her throat and pulls her hand away from Santana, a gesture the latter doesn't miss. They both look away, Brittany towards the walls surrounding the castle and Santana to the castle itself.

"It is too bad you didn't arrive in the spring," Santana says softly after a few seconds of thoughtful silence.

Brittany looks to Santana, following her eyes to the castle. It sits like a dark menace in the middle of the wood. It's hard stone gargoyles hang off of the walls and ledges of the castle with anger on their faces. The late afternoon sun casts deep shadows that look perfect for hiding in. The snow saves the image from being a complete horror, it drapes majestically on steep tower roofs and bunches up on some of the gargoyles heads, making a few of them more comical than frightening..

"Why is that?" Brittany inquires softly.

"The castle in the spring is...was beautiful. Even now, with it's new facade, spring makes the castle look nicer. Nothing like it used to, of course," Santana says, glancing at Brittany. She crosses her arms and looks back to her castle, though to Brittany it looks as if she's looking past it. "I suppose it's hard to imagine that the castle ever looked beautiful."

Brittany nods as she listens. She clasps her hands behind her back and rocks on her feet. "You are right, it's quite scary." Brittany tries not to smile when Santana looks quickly to her. "But now that I've been in it and seen the charms of it...I like it. It's different, I like that. Much better than any of the cottages back in town." Santana's eyes soften, the hard wrinkles in her face disappear with Brittany's words. "How could I not like it?" She asks the question quietly and turns to face Santana. Brittany watches, grinning, as Santana's eyes dart back and forth between her own.

Santana opens her mouth and closes it. "I..." She wrings her hands in her cloak.

Brittany feels as if her heart is swelling in her chest. The feeling is new and so big she knows she won't be able to contain it. She doesn't want to, anyway. She wants more than anything to reach out and still Santana's hands with her own and then hold them in her own, feel them in her own.

Santana clears her throat again.

Brittany smiles wide. "Show me your gardens," she suggests moving ahead of Santana. She knows winter has killed most of the plants kept in the large gardens behind the castle, but it is the first thing that comes to mind. She needs a moment to gather her thoughts.

Brittany finds refuge behind a large tree. She relaxes against it and inhales, placing a hand on her chest. She can feel the beat of her heart hard against her hand. It frightens her, this new feeling that swells in her in the best way. This feeling that makes her want to reach out and touch Santana, know Santana more and better and deeper and longer.

She peeks around her hiding spot and sees Santana still glued to the spot, looking at the snow around her feet. She exhales a small laugh, the image is endearing. Her smile quickly turns mischievous.

/

Santana is frozen to the spot. She thinks the snow must be ice and is keeping her from moving forward, from talking, from doing anything except play Brittany's words over and over in her mind. The things she said, the way she said them sparked something in Santana. It felt like Brittany was talking about something else. The words awakened a feeling Santana hasn't felt in a long time. She clings to them, even now after Brittany has asked her for a tour of the dead gardens and left her standing like a fool in the middle of the cold grounds.

She's too afraid to let the words go and fall back into a world where they don't exist. She's too afraid to lose them and the precious feeling they have given her. So she stands as still as possible, like one of her gargoyles, afraid that any movement may shake them from her mind. They've given her something she knows from her life before she was a monster, something she doesn't remember the name for but remembers how very special it is.

"Hey Santana!" Santana looks up just in time to see the white ball of snow. It hits her squarely in her chest and she stumbles backwards, falling down. A loud burst of laughter echoes back to her. She feels jolted, cold, wet with a sliver of anger wheedling it's way closer to the surface. She feels afraid most of all, afraid she lost that too good feeling.

She watches Brittany jog to her. Her blonde hair is windswept, cheeks rosy red, her smile the biggest brightest thing Santana has ever seen. "I didn't think you'd fall!" Brittany's laugh is light and the wind carries it and throws it around Santana gently.

The anger seeps away and a smile crawls in to replace it.

A laugh bubbles in Santana's chest.

The feeling is still there. Santana feels it deeply rooted in her chest.

/

"You know we shouldn't be watching them," Rachel says to Quinn.

"Oh, come now, you know you're curious as well as I am," Quinn says, rolling her eyes and watching Brittany and Santana motion towards the castle.

"They're looking this way, they may see," Rachel whispers beside Quinn.

"Then go and clean something," Quinn snaps. "I'm simply looking after them, make sure nothing goes wrong."

"I'm sure that's exactly what it is," Rachel huffs.

Quinn turns away from the window for a moment. "Aren't you the least bit interested to see what it is that Brittany does to tame Santana in such a way?"

"Well, I," Rachel stutters. She huffs again and crosses her arms. "I just don't think that it is the right–"

"Just come look," Quinn interrupts.

She turns back to the window and smirks when Rachel joins her a second later. Quinn watches the interaction and wonders what they could be saying. When Brittany darts ahead of Santana and disappears behind a tree she frowns.

"What happened?" Rachel asks beside her.

Quinn looks at her, "I've seen as much as you have and can hear as much as you have, how should I know?"

"Santana is going to have us throw her in that tower again," Quinn says, turning back to the window. She watches Santana fall to the ground and Brittany run to her side. Quinn turns away from the window and walks towards the stairs, determined to keep Santana's temper from making her do things she regrets.

"Quinn, wait, look," Rachel says quickly, excitedly from the window.

"What, has she just killed her out in the cold?" Quinn asks, only half joking. She walks to the window and finds the girls in the snow. "I'll be," she says quietly.

Santana is laughing along with Brittany.

"I can't remember the last time she laughed," Rachel says, reverently. "What do you think this means?"

Quinn shakes her head and turns away from the window. "You really shouldn't be watching them, Rachel. It's rather inappropriate."

Rachel's mouth falls open in disbelief as Quinn disappears to the kitchens.

/

"You're shivering," Brittany says as they walk into the entrance hall of the castle.

"That's because you bombarded me with balls of snow until I was soaked to the bone," Santana exaggerates. She pauses for a moment before walking on, wondering where her playful words came from, wondering how Brittany is reaching into her and pulling out tiny pieces of herself she hasn't seen in what feels like lifetimes.

"I gave you warning," Brittany says, chuckling. "You should go change, though."

Santana knows Brittany's advice is sound and that Quinn would fuss until she changed clothing, but she doesn't want her time with Brittany to end. She doesn't want to go back up to her destroyed bedroom and fall back into being Santana without this warm feeling in her chest, Santana without Brittany.

"I think a nice fire would do just as well," Santana says. "Join me?" She asks it hesitantly, voice nearly shaking. She finds the nervousness stems from the warm feeling that spreads through her entire body now, making her face hot and hands sweaty.

"That would be lovely," Brittany says. She curtsies to Santana, in a joking manner, and gestures towards Santana's favorite room, her study, right off of the entrance hall.

Santana laughs as Brittany bows to her and doesn't realize she reaches out and grabs Brittany's hand. She doesn't realize she's walking hand in hand with Brittany until she's standing in her study, looking down at the way their skin contrasts so harshly.

"Oh, I..." Santana says, releasing Brittany's hand and taking a step back. She's too afraid to look up and see Brittany's face, her reaction.

"Are all of these books yours?" Brittany asks and moves away to the bookshelves that line the walls.

Santana looks up in time to see Brittany running her fingers delicately over the spine of a row of books. She looks back to Santana and smiles at her. The warm, unnamed feeling returns to Santana's chest, fluttering like a bird. "Yes," she answers. "Yes, these are my favorites."

"There are so many, though," Brittany says quietly.

"There are more in the library if you'd like to see sometime," Santana offers. She sheds her cloak and hangs it over the red armchair by the fire.

"You have a library?" Brittany looks at Santana as if she's been keeping a secret from her.

"Of course," Santana replies. She can't recall a time she's been somewhere that doesn't have a library.

"You enjoy reading, then?" Brittany asks, pulling a book off of a shelf and opening it gently as if it's ancient treasure.

"I never used to," Santana says slowly. "Before I became..." She stops and looks down. She can feel Brittany's eyes on her. "I learned to love it over the years."

The room becomes quiet, heavily so and Santana wonders if she has said the wrong thing. The air shifts beside her and she looks up to see Brittany moving towards her, holding a book. She watches as Brittany settles onto the rug in front of the fire. "Would you read this?" She holds the book up to Santana and smiles a small, gentle smile.

Santana takes the book and grins at the familiar cover, as if she's greeting an old friend. She sits on the rug beside Brittany, adjusting her dress. "You would like for me to read this out loud?" Santana asks, shyly. No one has ever made such a request from her.

Santana can't remember the last time anyone asked her to do something for someone else.

"I would like you to read it to me," Brittany clarifies.

Santana looks up at her and then back at the book. She's never read to anyone before and finds herself suddenly nervous. She can't tell if the heat in her face is from the fire or her nerves. She places the book on the rug and opens it. Brittany leans in close beside her, they're nearly touching. Santana exhales a shaking breath.

The too-good feeling returns and the closer Brittany leans into Santana's words, the bigger the feeling becomes.

/

It takes a while but Santana's voice eventually evens out. She falls into a rhythm with the words that Brittany finds comforting. The fire is warm and Santana's voice is relaxing. Brittany smiles and sighs, content.

She doesn't even feel sleep sneaking up on her. She doesn't feel herself leaning heavily against Santana as she falls asleep.

/

When dinner is nearly ready Quinn leaves the kitchen to inform Santana. She starts in the West Wing and is surprised to find that Santana isn't there. She tries the library next then the ballroom, reasoning that maybe she is with Brittany.

She finds Rachel in a corridor and stops her. "Do you know where she is?"

"Santana or Brittany?" Rachel asks, resuming her walk down the hall.

Quinn follows, rolling her eyes. "Santana. Dinner is almost ready."

"Is she not in her room?" Rachel asks, stopping quickly and casting Quinn a vexed look.

"She is not," Quinn says, glaring at Rachel. "I've looked and can't find her. She's disappeared, we're free at last."

Rachel sighs. "Quinn, I haven't the time for your games. Check her study and then try everywhere else again. It is a large castle."

Rachel nods once before continuing her brisk walk down the hallway. Quinn watches her go and smirks, of course Rachel would still be annoyed at her for their earlier conversation at the window. "So sensitive," Quinn says.

She walks in the opposite direction of Rachel, heading towards the entrance hall. She descends the stairs quickly. Running around to find Santana has left her with a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. She fears if she doesn't find her soon, she will return to a kitchen full of smells of burnt bread or overcooked chicken. Though Tina is completely competent, it is _her _kitchen.

She pushes open the study door and opens her mouth to call for Santana.

She isn't sure how to respond to the image in front of her. Santana is sitting in the floor in front of the fire with her back against the red armchair. Her legs are straight out in front of her. She holds a book in one hand while the other hand gently plays with a lock of Brittany's hair.

Brittany is lying on the floor, her head in Santana's lap. She looks asleep, peacefully and deep.

The image evokes an odd feeling in Quinn's chest. Her lips gently curl into a small smile. She steps into the room, around the left side of the armchair. "Santana," she says, quietly.

Santana doesn't look up from her book, too absorbed in the story.

"Would you like for Finn to come move her to her bedroom?"

Santana lowers the book and looks down at Brittany, asleep. She looks back up to Quinn, who can't read her expression. Her eyes are soft, she isn't scowling, she looks content, peaceful, nearly as peaceful as Brittany. It's a Santana Quinn doesn't recognize immediately. "I think she's fine here," Santana says in barely above a whisper.

"Dinner is almost ready."

Santana picks up her book. "We'll be there."

Quinn nods and backs out of the room. She shuts the door and sighs. She looks around and breaks into a fast walk, waiting until she's out of earshot of the room before she begins to call Rachel's name loudly.

/

Brittany rolls over in her bed for what feels like the millionth time that night. Her body is awake, full of energy, her mind restless. She sits up and sighs, annoyed at herself for falling asleep earlier. She stands up and stretches. She dresses, deciding that she won't be able to fall asleep for a while.

She opens her door slowly and cringes when it creaks. She knows it isn't considered sneaking if she walks around because of restlessness, but it still feels as if she's breaking a rule. She wanders for a while, looking at suits of armor and tapestries that line the walls of the corridors.

She could always visit the ballroom. The sparkling floors and high ceilings make her feel free. The room reminds her of the times she traveled with her father, when she learned to dance. She turns a corner, a corner she believes leads her to the ballroom and walks down a long corridor she doesn't recognize. It doesn't take her long to realize she's lost in the castle.

"Brittany," someone says behind her.

She jumps and turns, hand on her pounding heart. "Oh, you startled me."

Finn takes a few steps forward, into better lighting and gives her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I was just on my way out..." He looks away and Brittany doesn't miss the way his eyes seem to gloss over, as if he's reliving a memory in his mind.

"Well, on your way out, do you mind sending me in the right direction?" Brittany asks.

Finn looks back at her and bobs his head. "Sure, your room is down this way," he says, indicating for her to follow him.

"Well, actually," she says. He stops and looks at her, puzzled. "I was hoping to go to the ballroom."

If Finn finds the request an odd one, he doesn't let it show on his face. "I can take you there," he says and begins to head back the way Brittany came from.

They walk in silence. Brittany doesn't have anything particular to say and decides that Finn seems preoccupied enough. They reach the ballroom in a very short time and Brittany can't help but chuckle at her lack of direction in the castle.

"What's funny?" Finn asks as he opens the ballroom door for Brittany.

She thanks him and steps inside. "It's just funny that it took such a short time to get here and I was so close and didn't know it. I find it funny." She shrugs and looks around the dark ballroom, frowning.

"Here," Finn says. Brittany turns around. He holds a torch in his hand. She watches as he lights a few of the closest light fixtures. He doesn't even have to stand on the tips of his toes to reach the higher ones on the wall.

"Thank you," she says, looking around at the now dimly lit ballroom.

"You're welcome," Finn mumbles. He hangs the torch on an open hook on the wall and bows slightly to Brittany. He turns to leave.

"Hey, would you like to stay and dance?" Brittany asks.

While Finn's company isn't her first choice, she finds she doesn't want to be alone. After having spent such a nice day with Santana the idea of being by herself in her ballroom makes her stomach feel a bit hollow.

Finn turns and looks at her as if she's telling him a joke he can't seem to follow. "There isn't any music," he says, looking around.

Brittany rolls her eyes at him and begins to hum a waltz, smiling at him and curtsying. She moves to take his hand and pull him onto the dance floor.

"I'm a terrible dancer," he says adamantly, eyes wide and body stiff with nervousness.

Brittany ignores him and pulls him forward anyway.

Brittany can't help but agree with Finn. He's the worst dancer she's ever danced with. He is sincere in his apologies as he messes up a step, though. She laughs out loud when Finn steps on her foot for the third time. He releases his hold on her and steps back. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, looking down.

"Not everyone is a dancer," Brittany nods, twirling and completing the dance Finn ducked out on.

"I can sing," Finn says quietly, as if trying to prove he isn't completely useless.

Brittany pauses in her dance and looks up at him, intrigued. "You sing? My father sings sometimes when I dance."

Finn's face falls and he looks down again. "I'm sorry," he says for the hundredth time.

"For?" Brittany prompts.

"Your father," Finn says. "I'm sorry I took him away."

Brittany sighs and swallows as guilt slides thickly into her chest. It replaces the laughter and warmth that she felt during the day and leaves her feeling heavy. She hasn't forgotten about him, she's just been preoccupied. "You were doing as you were told," she says quietly. It's hard to be mad at him when Santana was the one telling him what to do. When Santana was the one sending him away from her. An odd twist of feelings rises to her chest and she pushes them away as best as she can.

Finn doesn't say anything. He keeps his eyes averted and stands awkwardly.

Brittany watches him and feels like she's looking at a little boy who's gotten into trouble back in the village square. "Would you sing?" The distraction would be welcomed.

The request grabs his attention and he looks up quickly. "Me?"

Brittany laughs. "Who else could I be speaking to?"

Finn smiles, embarrassed, and nods. "I guess I could." He pauses and Brittany can see his mind working to pick the correct song. She's just about given up on him finding the right thing to sing when he begins to sing. His voice echoes oddly in the large, empty ballroom. It's pleasant enough, though and his song choice one Brittany knows.

When he finishes she claps politely for him. "You are a good singer. You should sing more. This castle could use more music."

Finn's face falls again. "I don't like to sing in the castle." He speaks so quietly Brittany can barely hear him.

"Why?" She tilts her head to the right, thoughtful.

"Because of Rachel," Finn says, finally looking up. "You know how Santana is cursed? So are Rachel and Quinn."

"I know," Brittany says, remembering the conversation in the kitchen. "They told me, they explained it. She lost her singing voice."

Finn nods.

They fall into another silence.

"Finn," Brittany says slowly, thinking the best way to word her question. "I know how everyone else is cursed, but how were you cursed?"

Finn sighs and shakes his head. "I wasn't. I don't live on the grounds, actually. I do now, but I didn't before. I lived in a cottage with my mom in the woods. I started working here when I was younger. I wasn't in the castle when the curse happened."

Brittany opens her mouth to say something but Finn speaks again.

"The curse itself is my curse."

The statement throws Brittany's train of though off track. "What do you mean?"

"The curse takes the one thing you love above everything else. If I had been cursed it would have taken Rachel. I love her. I love her more than anything ever." He pauses as his eyes go glossy again. "She lost her singing voice." His voice becomes quieter, resigned. "She lost her voice instead of me. Now I live knowing I'm her second choice." He shrugs and looks up, directly into Brittany's eyes. "Isn't that curse enough?"

Brittany isn't sure how to respond and Finn doesn't seem to know either. They stand, Brittany feeling awkward for what feels like the first time in her life.

"Let me walk you back to your room," he offers.

"At least point me in the right direction," she suggests.

He nods at her, smiling slightly and leads her out of the ballroom.

After navigating the corridors for her, Finn points down a dark hall and says her room is near the end, she should recognize it. She thanks him and turns to leave.

"Hey Brittany," Finn says.

She turns around and looks at him, curious as to what he has to say now as they part ways.

"I've never seen Santana act like this," he says before turning to leave.

Brittany stands, rooted to the spot, unsure how she should process the information Finn has just given her.


End file.
